


I Still Remember

by jendavis



Category: Leverage
Genre: Drama, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec's been running his own crew for five years when Eliot reappears- on the other side of a job. Remembering someone, it turns out, isn't the same as knowing someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So many wonderful people helping out on this one! Love you all!
> 
> Beta'd by amuly & nevardevereaux, both of whom helped tremendously, and whose efforts are greatly appreciated. Thanks much, dearies!
> 
> Awesome cover art and banners by cybel. Thanks hon! And don't forget to check out the soundtrack, "Long Memory," compiled by ryuutchi and available [over here](http://ryuutchi.livejournal.com/317170.html).

The cabin lights are dark, most of the passengers are asleep, and they're _still_ out over the Atlantic. It's not like he's holding out hope, but Eliot can't stop staring out the window, looking for the lights of a ship below despite himself. The ship's still hundreds of miles behind, won't be catching up until well after they've made the descent into LaGuardia, and he's not going to kid himself. By that point, his attention's going to be elsewhere.

It should probably be _here_ , now, anyway, given how startled he is by Ferrara sliding into the empty seat next to him. He recovers quickly.

"There's a good article on the new exhibit at the Chicago Art Institute. Thought you might be interested." Ferrara grins, handing him a copy of the airline magazine- identical to the one slipped in with the emergency instructions and airsickness bag in the seat in front of him- before standing and heading back to his seat.

Eliot's flips through the pages, pulls the route plan from between the pages and turns the reading light on, glancing warily at the woman sleeping across the aisle as he begins to scan the map. Still the same dockyard, which is a relief, but the route through Manhattan has been changed. He's not sure, but if nothing's changed and he remembers correctly, they're going to be going right past Hardison's place.

He needs a distraction, and pockets the map, looking instead at the magazine. Ferrara hadn't been lying about the article, though there's a moment of panic as Eliot calculates the odds that it's anything more than chance. There's an picture on page 78; a group shot of society people attending the opening. There, in the background, smiling over their drinks but unnamed in the caption, are Sophie and Nate. Nate's gone gray. Sophie's still stunning. They look good.

He'd panic if it weren't for the more obvious reason for Ferrara's vague interest. Page 83's got a great shot of one of the . The caption reads _Aya Takano,  
"Birth of Land Dance, Izanagi, Izanami" 2008. On loan from private collection of L. Ferrara._

It's just Ferrara's ego, nothing more. Still, Eliot feels sick.

They'll be landing in four hours.

 _....6123 Kingfisher Boulevard. 571-810-7582. 24 Arlington Parkway. 686-221-0327...._

\---

It's a sunny afternoon, the first real nice day of the year, and Central Park is filled with people.

It's exactly the reason Alec hadn't wanted to meet up here, but Jillian Ramey had seemed skittish, on the phone. Afraid. But if he'd been up against what she's been going through, he probably wouldn't be too trusting, either. Still, it means that after his circuitous route in to make sure he hasn't been followed, he has to stand here and watch the carousel go round, feeling more and more seasick and conspicuous by the minute. Because yeah, a 32 year old guy lurking alone by the merry-go-round? _That's_ not creepy, not at all.

He busies himself with his phone, finds the usual message from Parker. _In. Out. Argentina's nice. SAFE soon_.

He has to think back to remember. If she's finished with Stuyvesant's estate already, she and Apollo will probably hit Markham's vault on the way back to the east coast, unless their schedule changes. Maybe they'll stick around long enough to grab dinner somewhere, maybe they'll just catch up over coffee again. Salton Security's got a new pressure trigger on the models rolling out next month and it hasn't been announced yet, but they're already sending out feelers into the London auction house scene, and for once, the gossip might actually be relevant.

The museums and antiquities circles- both legit and black-market- have been buzzing for months, wondering how the artifacts were finding their way back to the newly established storage facility in Manhattan, and why they were appearing in such perfect alphabetical order. Parker's proclivities in this regard- _it would be too easy, otherwise_ , she'd said- had garnered enough attention that questions and gossip had started cropping up. People were wondering about the identity of the anonymous benefactors who'd endowed Saving Antiquities For Everyone with the resources to open the facility. Not even the board knows, never mind the curators, office admins, or the host of couriers who made the drop-offs; these last only rarely knew what they were handing over.

Just to be sure, though, Alec writes himself a reminder to crosscheck the shipping and bike messenger company rosters again. The last thing they needed was some kid remembering the face of the woman who dropped a suspect package up when Interpol came pounding at their dispatch office.

Setting the reminder for later tonight, Alec glances up again, watches another batch of kids clambering onto the wildly colored horses. There's another guy, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking far too interested. The nearby policewoman's already noticed, though, she's got her eye on him, but still. Compared to what Parker's doing, Alec's afternoon is starting to feel distinctly seedy.

He fires off a reply to Parker and checks the time. It's 2:37. He'll give Ms. Ramey another three minutes, but then he's gone. Jillian Ramey isn't the only person needing his help these days.

\---

Alec can hear the thrash metal blaring the moment he steps out of the elevator, but Maria's already spotted him on the camera feed, and it's shut off by the time he reaches the door.

"You know you don't need to go offline like that," Maria chides him, pulling her streaked curls back into something resembling a ponytail. "It's not like you don't tell us everything they say thirty minutes later anyway."

"Doesn't feel right. They think they're only talking to me, I don't want to lie to them."

She's about to go off about how hard it is to run remote security when access is blocked- as if he didn't already know- so he derails the usual conversation before it starts, and sets her tracker, which he'd found stuck under his collar, next to her laptop. "Y'all are getting better, though, Had to break out the RFID reader to find it on the way back."

Pocketing it, Maria beams shamelessly. Alec doesn't know is if it's going to next appear shoved between the seats in his car, stuck underneath his watch, or sewn inside the seam of his jeans- and he's still trying to figure out how Ravi had pulled _that_ one off- but he knows that he'll be bugged again within the next twenty four hours, maybe the next four. Ravi's on his way over already. He'll probably have it out of Maria's pocket and hidden again on Alec's person before he's even raided the fridge.

Of course, Maria doesn't seem to be making it too hard for him to pick her pockets these days. If they're not together already, they will be soon. Alec hopes it works out. Hackers aren't too hard to come by- most of them suck, but at least they _exist_ \- but pickpocketing had been a dying art when _Parker_ had gotten started, and if she hadn't pointed Ravi his way, they'd all be screwed.

Besides. Just 'cause it didn't work out with him and Parker doesn't mean it won't work out for Ravi and Maria.

He's just getting around to asking after Jason when he hears his footsteps stomping up the stairs. At six foot five and two hundred and fifty pounds, stealth isn't his strong point, though he can ghost with the best of them when he needs to.

Right now, though, there's no need. He's throwing himself down in the chair across from Maria and glaring at Alec. "You were followed. _Again_."

"What?"

"Long blondish hair, maybe light brown. Aviator shades. I didn't get a good look, so I don't know if she was as hot as that last one." he smirks, obviously remembering Sophie's last surprise visit. "Silver Charger with Jersey plates. Took off when I pulled up, and I'm not sure, but it might've been the one that was parked next to you down at the park."

It's the sort of thing he could do with his eyes closed, but Maria's already asking for the license plate number, which Jason's already handing her on a scrap of paper. Alec's fingers flex uselessly. It's been a while since he's done a proper hack job.

"Stolen this morning," she confirms a moment later, her face worried as she looks up again.

Jason's nodding emphatically at Alec. "And _that_ is why we're _all_ supposed to wear our damned trackers. Even you, boss man."

Alec blinks at the lecturing tone, but lets it go. It's not worth explaining that anyone seriously gunning for him- for any of them- would probably have their shit together enough that they wouldn't be resorting to tailing him through Manhattan traffic.

"We'll deal with it when there's something to deal with," he says instead, glancing around. They're still one short. "Right now, I want to know where Ravi is. I swear, if he's showin' off down on the corner with his magic tricks again, I'm gonna put a leash on that kid."

\---

 _If Nate hasn't gone off the rails already, Alec realizes, he's due. Possibly because Eliot's about ready to shove him right over._

 _They're so close to losing this one. The Retzings are going to get away with it. They're going to have to pull out, tell the client their house is gone, that there's nothing they could do because none of them can come up with anything better than Nate's drunken jackassery._

 _Alec's ready to let Eliot deck Nate. Hell, he'd hold him down himself, if Eliot so obviously didn't need it. Sophie, though, she's stepping between them. Eliot, Parker and Alec are being dismissed, because Mom and Dad need to fight in private. The kids wait in the hallway, exchanging wary glances and not speaking, though Parker's got her ear to the door. Maybe she can hear Sophie's part of the conversation, but Nate's loud voice bleeds through easily enough that they can all hear._

 _"What're we going to do?" Parker murmurs, her eyes fixed on some vague point a few feet in front of her, but Eliot's not talking, and really, this probably isn't his area of expertise._

 _It's Alec's. They've been playing this by Nate's rules, but his are not the only ones in town. Alec's got enough access and information that he could destroy the Retzings with a few quick keystrokes. It wouldn't be half as poetic as what Nate or Sophie would come up with, not as explosively insane as what Parker or Eliot would do, but the Retzing clan would be down for the count._

 _He considers the angles, runs the numbers and probabilities in his head. His fingers itch for a keyboard._

 _He's got a plan. It's so damned easy, and he's sure they'll run with it, but Parker's backing and away from the door suddenly, and it's swinging open, and Alec's missed his shot. Nate's got another plan, it's insane, reckless, but Sophie's mollified. It's bringing the others on board. Alec can keep his plans to himself. For now._

 _It's the first time he's thought about running his own game. His own crew. It's not the last._

\---

Alec's just finished prepping the briefing files when Ravi slips in through the door, swearing like he always does that he'd run into the mailman and hadn't actually broken into the box before handing him two envelopes. More shit that needs to be filed to keep Maria's alias' NSA clearance in order, and the utility report for the property down in Boston. Ravi's holding something back, though, pulling it out of his obnoxiously tailored jacket and flipping it over nimble fingers.

"You got a postcard."

For an instant, Alec's heart stutters to a full and complete stop, the hope's hitting so hard. Reaching out for it, already trying to see the image on the front, the postmark on the back, but by the time it's in his hand, the moment of obscene hope's been crushed.

Parker sent it a few days ago, and it's got a picture of Quinta de Olivos in Beunos Aires on the front. The scrawl on the back is actually what he should've been expecting from the start. _Peron's tunnels were more extensive than they show on the tour, but the security in the gallery was almost minimal. It was actually almost boring, but Sophie would've loved it._

It's exactly what he should've been expecting from the start, instead of that weird flash of anticipation shooting up his spine, hoping for something else. The team's still watching him, though he's not sure he's been caught out. He mentally shakes himself, shoves the card in his pocket, and brings up their new job on the computer. "Right on. But now that we're all here, we've got this."

He flips to the next screen, watches their three faces as they realize what they're looking at: security camera footage of four dead bodies laid on the edge of a dock. Another woman being dragged out of the water. The next shot reveals the back of a shipping container opening and the bodies being crammed in with fifteen other- still breathing- women.

"Human trafficking," Ravi guesses with disgust. "Wonderful."

Jason's examining the image, frowning. "So the client. Is she one of the ones in the truck?"

"Not _this_ truck, though apparently it's how she came in. She's been in New York for about eight years, and runs a non-profit that helps these women out. It's hard going, since they're not exactly jumping at the chance to talk to her, since half of them thinks that she works for immigration."

"She doesn't?"

"She consults with several agencies, mostly off the books. She's naturalized now, but according to her, it took so much bribery to get that far that she thinks her name getting dragged through it will only hurt the cause. And she's probably right."

"So why come to us now?"

"She's done a lot of the groundwork trying to make a case to bring to her lawyers, but the lawyers have backed out because of politics."

Maria's already getting angry. Another minute and she'll explode. "You're telling me that there's some _partisan_ bullshit involved here?"

"Ah, no. It's just the names that she's bumped into." Alec clicks forward to the next frame, keeping his eyes on the crew to register the surprise on their faces, but there's nothing but confusion. Glancing back to confirm that he'd put the right picture up, he shakes his head in disappointment. "Don't any of you read the news?"

Ravi's the only one to flip him off, but Maria has the sense to look mollifyingly shamefaced.

Alec tries again. "Lucas Ferrara?"

More blank stares. Jason's sneering at the picture, unimpressed with Ferrara's pressed polo shirt, khakis and loafers. His greased back hair does little to increase the severity of the image, but that's what Alec gets for using a shot from a charity golf tournament. He might not be immediately dangerous, but he's powerful, and that can be _so_ much worse.

He gives them the big picture. "Import king of Staten Island? Runs nearly everything going through Howland Hook? Brother of Senator Alexander Ferrara?"

Finally Maria groans in recognition. The senator, she's heard of. "Right. _Alexander_ Ferrara made his run at office after that police brutality case three years back that he prosecuted. The cops are terrified of him; it's no wonder the lawyers washed their hands of it. You think the senator's in on it with his brother?"

"That's one of the things we're gonna have to figure out. But even if he's not, we spook the senator? We're toast." Clicking ahead, Alec moves to the next slide. "This guy here is Ben Fletcher, and where Ferrara goes, _he_ goes. Associate, assistant, henchman, it's hard to say. "

"Definitely not the muscle, though," Jason smirks, wrinkling his nose. "Guy's a beanpole with goggles."

Maria's only half listening, already at work tracking Ferrara's movements. "Ferrara's passport was dinged in Rome, and again coming in through Kennedy this morning, but it doesn't look like Fletcher's with him." Right on cue, she starts muttering to herself. When she can't have her music, she makes her own noise. "Okay, going to start looking for aliases, just to be sure, but... maybe he's not on the same flight. A different one? Maybe he's on the boat? That would make sense, given the situation..."

"All right," Alec says, knowing that she's off and that she'll hit him up when she's got something. "I'm going to go check out the senator, see if he's just _related_ or actually _involved_. Maria, I know you're doin' your thing, but if you can find out when they're actually _moving_ the women? That would be extremely helpful." This time, at least, she nods to show she's heard. Either that or Alec's deluding himself that he has any control over the situation whatsoever.

"Ravi? I'm thinking we're going to need to get the car out of storage and brought 'round." There's a dangerously enthusiastic glint in Ravi's eyes as he stands up, smoothing his suit, habitually checking to make sure he's got his picks on him, though he already know where the keys are. "And remember, you pull anything hinky on the side, I'm not bailing your ass out."

Jason's got one hand hooked into the belt loop of his jeans; the other's rubbing at the stubble on his head as he waits patiently for his orders.

"Alright. Wanna get you in down at the shipyard, so it looks like you're going to get a job. Can't remember what we've got set up for you. Do any of your ID's have a few misdemeanors on 'em? Maybe a little jail time, but nothing serious?"

Jason's already standing up. "Only my real one. Might as well put it to use."

\---

Upstairs in his apartment, Alec's going through the mail. The postcard, he hangs on the refrigerator, slamming the magnet into place with a little more force than is absolutely necessary.

It's stupid to be this disappointed. This had passed beyond pathetic months ago. It's been over three years since he's gotten word from Eliot.

There'd been nothing written but "Happy Birthday" and Alec's address on the back, so there'd been no harm in framing it and putting it on the shelf next to the other pictures: Nana in her garden, Sophie, Mona and Nate standing at the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the picture of the bay Parker had taken from the _top_ of it a year later. She'd apparently been hanging upside down from her rig when she'd taken it; even so, it's a good shot.

Better, at least, than the night skyline on Eliot's postcard. The camera angle's _just_ off enough that's the tilt's only realized after hours and hours of staring. Either the photographer should've used either a longer exposure, stretched the headlights and taillights into solid streaks, or a shorter one, eradicating the blur entirely. On the whole, it's become a furiously annoying image.

But aesthetics aren't the point; they never have been. Eliot had mailed it from Toronto, two days before it arrived in Manhattan. In time and space, as far as Alec knows, it's the closest he's been in five years. It's the only real evidence that he'd ever existed.

\---

Alec fires off a text to Parker- _got your card, having fun?_ \- as he forces himself to contemplate making something for dinner. The greens he'd bought in a moment of delusion are unsurprisingly wilted and soggy, and he throws them in the trash, and the pork chops in the freezer would need to be thawed. It's as good an excuse as any to order takeout instead.

His phone vibrates, and maybe it's Parker calling, maybe she's in on of her social moods, but it stops as quickly as it starts. Just a text message, then.

 _ur welcome_.

He's not feeling all that sociable himself, anyway.

\---

"You're from the Post, right? The new guy?"

"Yes sir," Alec shakes the Senator's hand, deliberately overenthusiastic, every bit the eager journalist working his first big story. "And I really appreciate you taking the time this afternoon to talk to me, especially on such late notice. I'll try and make this quick."

"Well, your editor said that you wanted to talk to me before going to print with your story, and believe me, when I get a call from an editor saying they want to call in a favor, I'm just relieved when it's not comments on some sort of lurid sex scandal." Senator Ferrara fixes him with a wary stare. "But I am curious. She told me you're doing a follow up on 4301?"

"I'm trying to straighten out some conflicting information." Alec glances down at his notes- really nothing more than a list of votes and committees, but more importantly, it's a list of every project Ferrara's committees have signed off on. Some of them are huge. There are fifteen that have swayed state budgets, and several with national implications. Eight of them directly involve Homeland Security, and of these, three seemed tied together under something called Project Scrutiny.

What he's actually _got_ , though, is tiny. Just Ferrara's signature on a line, amongst other signatures on other lines. A slight modification in permitting. An update. It wasn't even big enough to make the front page of the papers when it went through.

"S4301-2009. Port security." Alec hands over a printout to help refresh the Senator's memory. "The upgrades your committee suggested were enacted eighteen months ago."

"Ah, yes." The Senator frowns, scanning over it, but there's a tightening in his jaw. It's clear that he doesn't need the reminder. "This was…yes, here it is. In response to updates in Federal guidelines regarding the PATRIOT Act. Streamlining and solidifying the inspection documentation on all shipments coming in through our ports. Rather than having foreign inspectors uploading their findings in one file and our domestic inspectors uploading _theirs_ in a second file, we combined them into a single set of documents. It's started at the overseas port and finished domestically, then uploaded."

Alec nods. "Okay, so it removes duplicate information, I can see that, but doesn't it also remove a layer of security?"

"Actually, quite the opposite." Ferrara leans back in his chair and frowns. "And as I'm going on record, here, I would appreciate if you tread carefully. There's nothing underhanded about it, but it might be misconstrued, if taken out of context."

Alec nods. Of course.

"Many areas we do business with just don't have the technological interface to keep up with our systems, and data kept getting lost. With these modifications, the information now comes in with the ship, and is immediately on hand for our inspectors at the port. It's all in the committee transcripts, but we didn't want to leave it in the final signed copy, in case someone found the reality a little bit rude."

"I see." Alec needs to shift the Senator's curiosity here. Move it onto himself, rather than his questions. He nods to himself and scowls, making a show of thinking it over for a moment. Toying with his pen, he drops it on the floor and picks it up. Straightening in his chair again, he nods, feigns understanding and a shade of disappointment. "Okay, good. Well. Some of my sources had me running in a slightly different direction."

"How so?"

"Down at the docks, there's been some question as to why there's only one set of signatures on the shipments they've been seeing for the past few months." He frowns. "I mean, this way of doing things makes a lot more sense. But there's no real story in it. It's just looking more like my sources just didn't actually read their protocol update memos, you know? I guess that's what I get for trying to build my stories from the ground up." He stands, extends a hand. "Thank you very much. You just saved me from completely killing my career before my third byline."

"That's no problem at all," the Senator stands, offers Alec his hand; they shake. "I'd rather spend five minutes with one journalist than five months with thousands, especially over something that wasn't news in the first place."

\---

The bug is still stuck to the underside of Senator Ferrara's desk.

Alec brings the feed up on the comms channel and listens in as he drives home. There are no terse phone calls to his brother, nobody's called into a quick, nervous meeting. Either Ferrara's confident that Alec's missed the point entirely, or he's confident that he has nothing to hide.

But Alec hasn't missed a thing. The stateside inspectors are, effectively, the only ones signing off on the shipments, and they have access to create or destroy any information they want.

Ravi's got the car out of storage and stashed in Alec's garage, so he's got to cruise around for an extra ten minutes just to find parking. He's finally pulling in to a space down the block when there's a faint ringing noise. It's the Senator's phone, through the bug.

"Hey darling," he says, voice calm and relaxed. "No, it's been today, the vote's been pushed out a week and I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork." A scuffling sound, like the chair being pulled out. "Nothing interesting. Journalist came by to look into a weird case though... yeah, you remember S4301? No? No reason you should. Shipping. Boring security upgrade stuff. Think the poor bastard must've pissed off his editors or something...yeah. No, I'll be home around eight, finish the rest of this at home." His wife, apparently, is still talking, but nothing Alec's heard so far is enough to make him wish he'd managed to tap the phone, too.

The next words catch his attention. "Lucas?" The Senator sighs, listening. "No, I'm not canceling our first _date_ in months just so we can sit around listening to his vitriolic idiocy for another unending evening. Did that last Christmas, my duty's done for the year. Friday night, you, me, dinner and a show. He can kiss my ass. Yeah... Love you too."

The call ends, and it's making him feel homesick. He sits in the car for a moment, watching the traffic go by. Up in the office, he's got people waiting. It's not like he's heading back to an empty house to stare at the television in the dark. That'll come later, once they're done for the night and he's staggering up the stairs to his apartment.

It's not important. He'll leave the bug up, check out the Senator's cell and email later tonight, on the off chance. But it looks like, for once, the politician in the equation is clean.

It's a good thing. Makes his life easier. He doesn't need to be bummed out. Really.

\---

"Okay, guys," Alec's call for attention doesn't work nearly as well as killing Maria's industrial noise does. "I was up until midnight combing through the Senator's life again, and the only thing I know for certain is that there's not much love between the brothers Ferrara. I don't think he's in on it. Where are we at with everything else?"

He's not the only one still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Jason's come straight from his overnight shift at the docks- never let it be said that their HR office can't keep up the pace- and looks like he's about to fall asleep in his chair. "Boat's due tonight. Quarter after ten long as the weather holds."

"I planted a tracker on Ferrara's car last night." It's early enough for Ravi, too, that the Bengali accent's coming through. It'll be gone again by noon, though why he's been making such a study of masking it is anyone's guess. "I put a tail on him for a time, just to be sure. He's been all over the city, hasn't stopped anywhere for long, but it seems that he may be going to the ground for the day."

"All right," Alec nods, transferring the data from Ravi's tracker to it's own layer of the map. Nothing much out of the ordinary, and there's a fifty-fifty shot that the side-trip into Williamsburg is because of the construction on the Midtown tunnel. The warehouse in Queens, though, Ferrara'd had to backtrack to get there. He's stopped in three times, last arriving an hour and a half ago."

"It's definitely a safe house," Maria calls as she comes out of the kitchen.. "Bank owns the building right now, there are three different developers trying to get their hands on it. In the meantime, it's just sitting vacant."

"The power has been cut, but I saw him and some other who we don't know dragging a generator inside. They're running... off of the grid." Ravi adds. "If I were to stash a few dozen women for a few days, I would do it there."

"Which means the deal's not going down on the ship," Alec grins. It's one less thing to worry about. "We might actually have some lead time on this."

"So what's the plan for tonight?" Jason's exhausted, cranky, but it hasn't boiled over yet. The coffee cup Maria's sliding in front of him seems to be keeping it at bay, but they've got to get a move on so he can crash out, get some sleep.

"We spook the hell out of them, get them to change up the play, give us time to get ahead of them. Nothing could be simpler."

Ravi shrugs. "What happens when they decide to start shooting at us?"

Jason raises his coffee and smirks. "I do."

Alec shakes his head. _Hitters, man. Don't matter who they are, where they're from, it's always the same damn ego._ "And by that, you mean _step back and let the police handle it_ , right?"

Across the table, Ravi's going into his pocket for something. Maybe his deck of cards, hopefully not the picks. Alec has no idea what's left in the building that he hasn't broken into yet, but it's still another reason to get them their assignments and get them out of here, quick.

"Uh. Sure. Right. Whatever," Jason underscores it all with a yawn. "Let me guess. Ravi in the squad car again?"

"Nope. Turns out we get to save ourself a little running around this time. I'm bringing backup in on this one, you remember-"

Maria's computer starts chirping- it's found something- and three seconds later Alec's phone is vibrating. Checking the display just confirms it.

 _Huh_.

He swings over to the computer to confirm. When predicting human behavior there's no such thing as a definite hit, but at 87.82 percent this one's as close as they're likely to get. It's time they got moving.

"Hey, Ravi? Are you as bored as you look?"

" _Very_ much so."

"Excellent. I need a ride."

\----

Alec has Ravi wait outside with the bike, and rushes into the airport with five minutes to spare. He gets as close to the terminal as he can without going through security, setting himself up along the far wall. There are half a dozen other people here, grandmas and guys in suits and kids all waiting in various states of anticipation, and it's easy to bleed into the background.

He's got his head down over his newspaper, but he doesn't have long to wait. After only a few minutes, he spots Fletcher going past, heading towards the baggage claim. Alec forces himself to wait ten seconds before checking his watch, acting startled in case anyone's looking, and following after him.

He's pulled the trick a thousand times before; airports are always the easiest place to pin a tail on someone. Nobody ever looks twice at anybody once they've cleared security, trusting enough in their x-rayed shoes to let their guard down; coming off an international flight, everyone's so groggy they can't see straight.

This time, though, something's feeling wrong. He's catching himself glancing around every twenty seconds, searching for the eyes he thinks are boring into him, or someone swiveling suddenly to head off in a different direction. He's checking reflections in the windows, but he's not seeing anything.

It feels like he's missing something.

Lurking next to the coffee shop, Alec considers aborting the tail as he watches Fletcher wait for his luggage. It still feels like there's something crawling up his neck and in a moment, Ravi's going to have this, anyway.

The bags are just starting to come down onto the conveyer belt when Fletcher's cell rings, and whatever's being said sets the skinny man into motion again. He suddenly takes off, straight off and quick, heading for the exit, no thought for his bags.

This is Ravi's chase, now, and Alec passes the info along as he swings into the coffee shop and orders a latte that he doesn't feel like drinking. Just in case it's enough to shake the eyes he's not honestly sure are on him.

"I've got him," Ravi's voice vibrating and slightly muffled the same way it always in when he's using the mic in his motorcycle helmet. The accent's gone, though, completely. He's awake and on the move.

"Be careful. Not sure he's the only one with a tail," Alec mutters underneath the hiss of the espresso machine.

When he turns around, though, the baggage claim looks the same as it always does. The feeling's passed. And he's got an appointment to keep, anyway.

\---

"It's so good to see you!" Tara exclaims, hopping out of the cab to hug him. "I wasn't sure that was you leaving the park the other day."

"Silver Charger? Jersey Plates?"

Tara blinks in surprise as she steps back to look at him. "Showoff."

"Yeah, well. I don't like to brag, but-"

"You _love_ to brag." She leans back and pays the cabbie. Her hair's a bit darker than he remembers- she's dyed it recently- but her shoulder's a little bit sunburned.

"You look good," he says, watching the cab pull off. "You see Parker when you were down in Rio?"

"Helped her liberate that Babylonian tablet from an investment banker who wasn't nearly as charming as he thought he was. Hit town a few days back. Just made the drop on the way over."

Parker's been adamant about using bike messengers whenever she's returning any of the looted artifacts. "Bold move," he says, opening the door to the cafe. "You didn't have it couriered over?"

"Did it myself," she's flirting again; she probably never really stops. "Spandex works very well underneath most clothing, you know."

He wants to ask her where she got the bike from, and what she'd done with it when she'd finished, but it's beside the point. "Just don't let Ravi hear you saying that, we'll be trying to put his eyeballs back in his head all day and we're gonna need him tonight."

Tara pulls a comical face, looking over her shoulder as they take their seats, clearly remembering the last time she'd been in town. "He's not joining us, is he?"

"Getting ready for tonight. I'll call them in a few hours," he says, flipping open the menu. He doesn't bother explaining that Ravi's attention's lying elsewhere these days. It's none of his business, and it's not Tara's, either. He's trying to decide between the burger and the club sandwich when he realizes that Tara's looking quizzically across the table at him. "What?"

"Nothing," she frowns, shaking her head. "Day of the job, just would've expected them to be hanging out. You know."

He does. Nate's crew, back in the day. They'd more or less moved into Nate's apartment- hell, Alec still owns the building in Boston; it's useful, once in a while- but that had been the entire problem, then. And damn Tara for bringing it up before they've even got their drinks. Thankfully, though, she's already picked up on his annoyance and is perusing her menu. "Don't worry. It's not a critique. So Maria and Ravi are still with you, and Jerry retired. What number are you on now?"

"Jason? He's solid." He starts counting off the guys Jason's replaced on his fingers. "No gang ties, no bailing on us in the middle of a job, no double-crosses. And he's still got an ego, thinks he's the Terminator or something, but it's nowhere near as bad as Omar was."

He's holding up five digits, now, feeling a little guilty about what he says next. "And he's not too old to handle it." Jerry had been with them for nearly two years, the longest any of their hitters had made it, and Alec had never blamed him for the broken arm, but Jerry'd been resolute, even going so far as to recruit Jason before he left. It's been a while since Alec's met him for beers, but he's gotten used to feeling homesick for people. Even Tara, who's been drifting in and out as much as anyone, these days. As much as she's always done.

They make small talk, catch up. She hadn't made it out to Nate and Sophie's for the holidays, but she'd gone out to visit in February. She finishes the story about the Babylonian tablet and Alec talks her through the dirty rental agency they'd taken out last winter in Boston.

"You go to McRory's while you were down there?"

"Yeah. Jason's got a thing for Cora, I think, but I ain't asking." It's a bad move, and he realizes his mistake the moment he's saying it. Tara strikes fast and hard.

"What about you? Are you seeing anyone?" She's been talking with Sophie. Or hell, maybe it's become such a normal _thing_ , now, that it's not even worth talking about.

"Nothing serious, and not for a while now." _I've seen you three times since my last drunken hookup and you know it_. "Been busy, you know how it is. How about you?"

"Nothing serious, and not for days now." Her grin's genuine, but Alec can't help wondering if it's a front, just for a moment. If she's got someone she thinks about too much. He doubts it, though. She's not the type to get hung up on a half-decade old near miss.

\---

 _...68 Bingham Street. 020-7153-9072. 8 Rio Vista Avenue. 505-273-2735._

Eliot's off his game and he knows it, but he's heading down to the docks on time anyway to get the lay of the land. Ferrara and the others are going to be here in a while, and they're going to do this thing, and there are still a thousand things that could go wrong.

Not least of which is the fact that he'd caught sight of Hardison at the airport. At first, Eliot had been content to duck around a corner and curse his luck- it was the last kind of coincidence he'd wanted, and the exact kind he'd been dreading- but a second scan of the terminal had shown him that Hardison hadn't been there for him.

'Course not.

He _had_ , however, been there for Fletcher, trailing him as far the baggage claim before dropping off. He'd probably had someone else waiting outside to pick up the tail.

Part of him- the part he's created and maintained so carefully for two years now- wants to tell Ferrara everything, but it's not going to happen. It'll only lead to questions that Eliot can't answer.

Like, for instance, what is Hardison doing here? Does he know about the job? What is his angle? Is this going to be a problem? And who the hell _is_ Hardison, anyway?

Because honestly? Eliot doesn't even know. He hasn't for years, now.

\---

 _"Yo," Hardison strides into the kitchen, tosses his empty bottle into the recycling. "No way in hell I could ever imagine getting married, I mean, it's just a piece of paper." After that scene with Nate's diatribe and Sophie's reaction, it's not too strange a conversation, but it still feels like it's coming out of nowhere, and Hardison's taking his lack of response to mean something more than it is. "I take it you never been married?"_

 _"No," Eliot takes a bite out of his apple._

 _"Ever come close?" As if it's any of his business._

 _"No."_

 _"What was her name?" He's grinning like he already knows the answer- Aimee- and Eliot hates that he's not wrong._

 _He snorts. Whatever. It's not like it matters, anyway. Aimee was a long time ago, hell, they'd just been stupid kids- and he knows they both dodged a bullet on that one. Twice now. But it had been nice, for a while there. Nostalgic, maybe. She'd been the last person in the world he'd been totally honest with, and the first he'd lied to. Even before he'd been ordered to._

 _"It was a girl I grew up with, but…anyway, she married somebody else, so…"_

 _"Hot damn!" It's strange that the shock and near-offense coming from the geek's makes him want to grin. "What did you do?"_

 _"What did I do?" Honestly, he has to think for a minute. 1990. He'd still been in the service, then, just barely. Hadn't even given up his name yet. "I liberated Croatia," he says, because it's close enough to the truth, and it's not like he's going to tell him about going out the night before, getting drunk in Zagreb, and fucking her out of his head with some lieutenant whose name he'd never gotten._

 _"Well see now me, I would've just got fat, started up a comic book shop-"_

 _He's still talking, but Eliot's gone before he can finish._

 _\---_

 _Moscone's daughter's wedding nearly falls apart- thanks in part to the Butcher of Kiev showing up, completely alive despite Eliot's previous best efforts, but they pull it off. Barely. Afterwards, he's wired, and though he's been cooking all day, Sophie's idea sounds great, at least up until she's letting him into the restaurant's kitchen._

 _"You lied to Hardison," she says, flipping on the lights._

 _It probably takes him too long to guess at what she's talking about. "Wait. You heard us talking?"_

 _"I did." There's not even a hint of apology in her tone, which doesn't exactly make him want to start in on anything. He just wants to get the sauce going, get the garlic roasting, get these onions chopped._

 _"Doesn't matter."_

 _"So why bother hiding it?" She sets to rinsing the basil off, and Eliot's surprised. It's oddly domestic of her. But she won't let him use it as a distraction. "There's a story there, isn't there?" She's barely trying to play him, being so direct._

 _"Got a lot of stories."_

 _"Which you never tell anyone," Sophie nods._

 _"Probably 'cause nobody needs to know 'em." He picks up the knife, starts dicing the onions. Again._

 _"I'm sorry, but that hardly makes you unique, here," she jokes, but backs off quickly. It's clear that she can't just turn it off, can't stop mining for information, can't stop the curiosity, but she's trying._

 _Still, both conversations irk him, for some reason. They sit under his skin for days. It's one thing for Sophie to be asking things like that. She lives for that sort of thing, and personal details are how she makes her living. Hardison, though?_

 _It's just irritating._

\---

The papers Fletcher gave him are enough to get Eliot through the shipyard's security checkpoint, but the gates closing behind him sound like prison bars.

He's got about an hour before the shift change, it's more than enough time to get the lay of the land and find a place to wait and think. Because he's stopped kidding himself. Hardison's near. This is his town, now, and he's probably still working out of that same place they'd set up on that MoMA job. Worse, he _has_ to be planning something, and whatever his intentions are, it's only going to lead to complications.

It takes him half an hour to convince himself to dig out his cell and dial Hardison's number, and only two seconds to stop himself from dialing. Digging the hole any deeper will only make things worse.

He really ought to call Ferrara, though, but he knows where it'll lead. He'll just stay on his toes.

In a few hours, he'll pull himself together. He'll do his job, and make sure the transfer goes down according to plan. Until then, he'll lay low, wait for Ferrara's call, and strip down the Beretta. The magazine release's been sticking for a few days now A cleaning's long overdue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
> ](http://s565.photobucket.com/albums/ss94/jendavisjendavis/?action=view&current=IStillRememberFinalDivider2.jpg)

"It's here," Ravi says, and Hardison takes a breath, lets it go, slowly. _Game on_

"Give it a few minutes, then do your thing," Alec replies. "Jason, you hearin' this?"

"Ah, _yeah_. Only been staring at it for the past half hour. Thing's freakin' _huge_."

Maria's got her binoculars out, keeping an eye on the dock while Hardison clambers into the back of the van, listening to her and Jason report the lay of the land. There are a few workmen standing around a table talking in the warehouse, and two pairs patrolling the maze of shipping containers with flashlights; they're on the western side of the yard for now.

Most of the dockers are in the yard, underneath the harsh glow of spotlights. Maria can't make Jason out of the fast-moving mix as they surge and shout, prepping for the unloading, getting cranes into place, shouting last minute orders at one another. It's not _actually_ total madness, it just seems that way.

"Hardison," Maria says suddenly from up front, looking out the side window. "It looks like we've got Ferrara's guys approaching the gate. Two cars."

"Okay, people," Alec says, looping the pre-tied tie around his neck, carefully sloppy, ready for the show. "On your toes."

\---

The badge and the warrant are all he needs to get through the front gate, but the tie, he's sure, helps. It's not as if he's trying not to be noticed, after all. Stashing the car in the visitor's lot, he heads past the offices and between the warehouses, and out into the yard. In front of him is one of the largest ships he's ever seen, and to the sides are mazes of shipping containers; more of the same carefully organized chaos. There are people and machines and noise _everywhere_.

Maria's tapped into the shipyard's radio frequency, bouncing the security channels to his headset, and Alec can hear the guards calling ahead, telling the foreman to be on the lookout for Detective Ledbetter. Already, containers are being loaded off the ships. Most of them are being stacked in the yard, adding to the maze, but there's one set of wheels set out in the yard, empty, waiting.

They've timed this right. Not that he'd been worried.

"Jason, you get the wheels tagged?"

"You think I'm an idiot?" Jason snorts. "'Course I did."

"Good. Ravi, you've got Jason's exit covered?"

"Western fence. I'm on my bike. Can be in the yard in thirty seconds if you need me."

"I'm already here," Alec points out. "Any trouble, you stay with the truck, got that? I'll leave you three to figure for yourselves, but I want eyes on Ferrara at all times. Maria, I'll have the video uplink soon as I can."

\---

It's only a few moments before the foreman comes running up to Alec. He's a short, stocky man going gray at the temples, wearing a florescent safety vest over dingy canvas coveralls. The trying-to-be-affable grin spreading across his face doesn't look genuine, but nobody ever looks thrilled to see the police. He might not be in on it. He might. In another hour, it won't even matter.

"Chuck Evans. Mind telling me what you're doing here?" It's clear from his tone, as they shake hands, that he's ready to call in the dogs.

"Roman Ledbetter," he says, showing his NYPD badge. "I'm looking into the a Jane Doe that got pulled out of the water this morning." He pulls out the map from his pocket. "Currents and wind seem to indicate that she went into the water somewhere between here and the point sometime between nine and eleven last night. My suspicion is that she came off a boat out _here_." He indicates a point on the map, out in the shipping lane. "But you know how it is. I want to show some pictures around on the off chance."

"Yeah," Evans frowns, and Alec hands him the pictures. They're of Parker, laid out on a steel table, and he's been re-using them for years now. They tend to get a better response than the ones he'd done of Nate. Cute blond factor.

"Shoot," Evans nods, more relieved than sympathetic. "That's a shame." He frowns, catching Alec's glance towards the activity in the yard behind him, and he's flipping through the photos quickly now. "But just so you know, that ship, they're not technically on US soil, so…"

" _This_ ," he taps the warrant, "only covers materials pertaining to my investigation. "That ship just coming in now isn't part of it. I just want to see last night's security footage, and see if any of your guys might have seen something."

"Right now's not a good time," Evans stalls. "We're kind of-"

"Say no more," Alec grins reassuringly. "My pops worked across the harbor back in the day. Gotta keep those boxes moving. The footage, though?

"Of course," Evans is starting to get nervous again. He hasn't locked onto anything yet, but he's definitely checking his angles. He leads Alec back out front to the office, taking a winding and circuitous route, and pulls the blinds closed the moment they arrive. It's not a coincidence. Even though there's no line of sight on the yard, that truck is going to be driving right past the building as soon as the container's loaded.

"We don't need any rubberneckers coming 'round pokin' their heads in, or I'm not going to be hearing about anything else for the next _month_ ," Evans explains, then starts going off on stories about his crew, the drinking, the parole violations, the usual mess of nervous jargon. Alec plays along. It's increasingly obvious with as chatty as Evan's become that he's trying to distract him from what's happening outside, trying to bamboozle him with bullshit. And he's not asking enough questions- he's not even surprised at all that Alec's here- because he already knows the answers.

\---

Evans has to enter his code to bring the security system online, but he's quick to send the live feed to the background while he brings up the video log.

"You ever use a system like this?"

"Ah, no. Not really. Most places I go, it's grainy tapes piled up in a cabinet, you know?"

Evans smiles, and talks him through viewing the recorded footage. It's obvious that he's been worried that Alec might simply go up to the menu and switch to view A:1-12, bringing the live feed back on. As if anyone- even a NYPD beat cop- couldn't figure it out. He settles back in his chair and begins watching the nine cameras that they've got covering the docks, before glancing up apologetically. "You want to pull up a chair?"

"What? Oh. No. Thanks. Was there, ah... anything else?"

Alec makes a show of shaking himself. "No, ah, sorry. I'm sure you've got things needing your attention. I'll be at this for at least an hour, so..."

"I'll be back to check on you," Evans nods, already backing out of the office.

The moment he's disappeared around the corner, Alec's uploaded the worm into their system, and Maria's confirming the uplink on her computer. They'll be able to start pulling all the data they want back at the office, and more importantly, they've got a permanent back door into the dockyard's system before Evans or anyone has a chance to panic and start thinking about cleaning their trail.

Jason comes on the line. "Okay, they're setting the container down on the wheels."

"Be careful," Alec mutters, settling in to watch the live feed. He follows Evans' progress past the warehouse and out into the yard, hurrying towards two men. One of them is Fletcher, the other, he can't see. They're rounding the far side of the eastern maze, already going out of sight.

"Is that Ferrara? Talking with Fletcher and the foreman?"

"It is," Ravi says, "but I'm losing them."

"Already on it," Jason says, sounding a little winded. "I'm up top in the maze. Have a bead on him in a second... Hardison? You're about to have company," Jason says, as if Alec can't hear security's chatter on the line.

 _Game time_.

"Okay, people, we're on."Alec grabs his briefcase and heads towards the door, only to find that it won't open.

He hadn't even noticed that he'd been locked in.

"Okay," he takes a breath. This could be a problem.

Tara's been quiet since they all came online, but she's been paying attention. "Now?"

Alec fights the urge to check the feed again. "Where's the truck?"

"They're just hooking it up to the trailer."

"Right," Alec decides. "Now would be good." He pulls the lock pick out of his pocket, and he's still awful at this- he's never going to be at Parker or even Ravi's level; his hands aren't quite steady enough, too impatient. And he's on the clock.

\---

The sirens, growing closer fast, must have the desired effect, because apparently that shouting that Jason's reporting means that the truck driver's not waiting to sign off on the clearance paperwork. "Fletcher's in the truck," he adds. "They're heading for the gate."

"We've got a good signal on the tracker," Maria confirms. "I got them from here."

"Ravi, get ready to follow, just in case." Alec gets the third tumbler. Two to go. "Where's Ferrara? His car? Coming this way? _Talk_ to me, people."

"He's still in the yard, heading your way, but... " Jason mutters, sounding confused, and there's a rough sound, a slight metallic echo. "He's looking around, almost made me."

"You still up on the containers?"

"Yeah."

"Shit. Only reason he'd be looking up right now is-"

"He's expecting to find something," there's a sudden exhalation on the line, Jason's moving, and Alec would already be back in front of the monitors, trying to search him out, if he wasn't so close to getting the fourth tumbler. "There's someone else here, I’m gonna go check it out."

" _No_ ," Alec growls, finally starting in on the last tumbler. "You're out through the fence. Ravi?"

"Motor's running, I'm waiting. Jason? Come _on_ , man."

There's no response. If Jason's out of position, they're running almost blind now. "Maria, you got Jason?"

"Already lost him in the maze," she admits. "And your exit route's about to be closed down."

" _Shit_." They're so closing to blowing it that Alec can't swallow. The last tumbler's fallen, though, and the door opens easily with a push. There's no time for gloating; he orders Maria, "just get me into the maze."

The siren's louder out here, the lights bouncing off the warehouse across the street now, close. The truck's heading past the gate behind him as he dashes along the front of the office, keeping low. From here, he's got to get around the warehouse- and there are no dogs, here, Jason had knocked them out an hour ago with a few laced steaks- but he's going to be on camera the moment he rounds the corner.

He runs along the east side of the warehouse. As soon as Evans and Ferrara get into the office to find he's gone, they'll go straight for the computer. They'll see everything. Distance is going to be the only advantage he has, and he doesn't have nearly enough of it.

He runs faster. The shipping containers are a solid black mass in front of him, but there's just enough light creeping through that he's got a corner to aim for, an entrance into the maze.

" _Jason_ ," Maria's scared, nearly shouting, probably glaring at shadows on her screen. " _Behind_ you!"

"Too late," Jason mutters, and Alec's blood freezes in his veins when it's immediately followed by a huffed expulsion of air. Jason's taken a hit. "Found him."

\---

There's noise up ahead, something hitting the side of an empty container, hard, followed by an upswell in shouting from the yard. Alec doesn't need Maria's directions, now. And he definitely doesn't need her yelling in his ear.

"I _said_ go _right_ ," she's shouting as Alec rounds the corner heading left. "You're gonna walk _right_ into-"

She's not wrong. Moving low along the length of one more container, and Alec can see more workmen rushing past, so he ducks back. Has to backtrack, go around from the other side. It's thankfully not far, and it sounds like the fight's moving this way. He can hear the punches being exchanged, nearly keeping pace with him over the container, bouncing off the metal.

He's cleared the end of the maze, finding himself at the corner of the yard and scans the fence quickly, looking for signs of Ravi's tampering, but they're not there, their escape route's on the _west_ side of the yard, past _everything_.

There's no way they'll make it that far.

A stray flash of red and blue bounces off the side of a container, though- Tara's in position, waiting in her car, applying quiet, heavy pressure on the scene- and he's got an idea.

"Tara," he's saying, listening as the fight continues just around the corner. "Slight change of plans. Hope you've got your uniform on, 'cause I'm changing the play. Gonna need you to come in."

Jason tumbles out past the edge, back-stepping and reeling but still moving under his own volition, already lunging back in, low. Alec clears the end of the container in four steps, uncaring, now, of the flashlights moving in their direction, just wishing that they'd hold in place long enough that he could get a read on how to jump in. The assailant's got a gun holstered at his side, but beyond that, there's not much that's registering.

Thing is, the flashlights, they're getting closer, shining on Alec now too, and Jason catches sight of him as he shoves his attacker back off of him and tries to roll away.

" _Hardis_ -" he's cut off by a punch in the gut, but then the attacker is jumping back, spinning around as his hand shoots down to his hip; and the light's in his eyes now, too bright on his face, but it looks like-

" _Dammit_ , Hardison!"

It's Eliot.

It's fucking _Eliot_. And he's got a gun in his hand.

\---

 _He's making inroads with the receptionist. He's careful to show how impressed he is with the family-only policy of the rehab clinic, as if she's the one who invented it. As if it's even rare. Another few seconds and they'll be in to see Nate._

 _"I'm with him."_

 _There's no way the receptionist's first reaction is going to be belief, no matter how willfully blind to skin she might believe herself to be. Already, her expression is shifting to skepticism, and Eliot's about to start in on the adoption story he's halfway through inventing when Hardison derails him _completely_. _

"Oh, so you're a friend of-"

"No. No, I'm." Eliot's already dreading where this is going the moment Hardison grabs his arm, tugging on it like he's got some proprietary right to even touch him. Unsurprisingly, he plays it too big and too loud, as if volume is adequate cover for his cluelessness. And it only gets worse as he continues.

"I am With. Him." The breathy voice, the tongue clicking, the lisp, it's fucking embarrassing. "See, he thinks the flirting, it makes me jealous, but it doesn't. You know. But, if you was like... Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody? Oh, girl, it would be on. Seriously." He slaps at the bell, all limp wristed club-kid stereotype, dragging Eliot away with him, telling him to Bring His Ass.

It's obnoxious and draws too much attention, and worst of all, it actually works, which means Eliot can't justifiably clock him one without raising suspicion, or answering any questions. Because nobody needs to know. It's just one more misdirection, not even the most interesting one that he employs, and if he went around spilling his guts to everyone he ever met, he'd be dead in less than six months, easy. Same as it ever was.

Which does nothing to explain why it is, three days later, that he's in the middle of his workout wondering how Hardison would take it if he sat him down and laid it all out.

Maybe he'd be underwhelmed, hearing it with just a nod and a shrug. Maybe the whole scene would be comical and gut wrenching and vivid. Probably, it would just be awkward and uncomfortable; a lot of hassle for no good reason.

One thing he knows for sure, though: this line of thinking is pointless.

He's not saying shit.

\---

Eliot's quick to think on his feet, but he's completely derailed, now.

Hardison's still staring at him, terrified, helping his guy up to his feet and muttering something at him that sounds like "interference" and gesturing towards the workmen who are starting to close in. Eliot watches him stagger off, hands held up reassuringly, and it's probably not much of a reprieve, it's not nearly enough to salvage everything that's gone _fucked_ , and it's nothing like an answer, but it's all that he's got.

Hardison eases back when Eliot steps towards him, but it's not a flinch. His eyes are on the Beretta, though. Best to holster it. "What the _hell_ are you doing-"

"Shut _up_ ," Hardison grinds out, shaking his head as his hand goes to his ear. "What's going on at the gate?" He's staring wide eyed, back at him, but his mind mostly still on the comms but not missing the fact that Eliot's holstering the Beretta. " _Complications_ , that's why!" He takes a deep breath as his full attention returns to Eliot.

And he just doesn't have the fucking time for this. Hardison goes down with just one punch.

Kneeling to make sure he's not hit _too_ bad- he just needs him uncoordinated and slow, not unconscious- he's back on his feet again as the police lights start to flash around the corner up ahead.

Eliot runs.

\---

Alec can't make out much beyond sirens and flashing lights, he's not sure what's going on- it's the cruiser, right. Not an ambulance, then. Shame, that. He could probably use one.

"Oh, quit whining," Tara chides him. "You're fine. What the hell happened?"

"Eliot."

" _What?_ " She's surprised. It doesn't happen often.

"I know. We're fucked." Swallowing thickly and working his sore jaw- man, that's going to bruise- he adjusts his earpiece and asks after the others.

"We're clear," Maria says, not necessarily because she likes disagreeing with him- which she does, on occasion- but probably because she hasn't been paying attention. "They're tagged, they're bugged. Nothing's changed."

Tara's the first to shake her head, but she remains silent. As helpful as she's been with the crew, she doesn't trust them yet, not entirely, and they're not her problem.

Alec sighs. "Yeah. No. Everything's changed. We got a track on our mystery muscle?"

"Lost him coming out of the yard," Jason cuts in. "Unless he doubled back without us seeing. We could go back-"

" _No_." Alec musters all the authority he can. "Everyone. We're meeting back up at the office," Alec summons all the authority he's managed to muster. "ASAP. Order some food or something, it's going to be a late night." At the sound of unsurprised groans, he removes his earpiece, resisting the urge to toss it out the window, grab the wheel, and turn around to run it over a half dozen times just for good measure. Tara probably won't go for that. They've made it back out onto the main road- no further sign of Eliot, though he hadn't been hoping or anything.

Tara gives him a few miles before asking. "So what the hell was he doing there?"

"I don't know."

Her answering silence- the length of it- is enough to get him suspecting what she's going to say next.

"Well, going by the looks of it, he's not on your side any more." She clearly doesn't know whether to be apologetic, grim, angry, or amused, and for one fierce moment Alec imagines her continuing with, _"You want I should put a bullet in his head?"_. She could probably really sell it, if she tried, shade it a hundred different ways and mean at least half of them.

Only she hasn't actually said it, and it's not actually an option, and he's only thinking this mafioso scenario bullshit to distract himself from the ache in his jaw and the fact that his vision's still a bit off. He's hearing things from a strange distance, but can't tell if it's Eliot or Eliot's fist that's caused it. But he's got one thing figured out for certain. It's been five years, a few hundred postcards, and the first thing Eliot does when they're face to face is clock him one.

"Could've been worse, right?" Alec tries, but it feels like a desperate play, goading Tara into telling him something he actually wants to hear. He doesn't have much hope for success, so it's no surprise that she doesn't immediately answer.

"Yeah. He could've _shot_ you." She rocks her head back and forth, reconsidering, before glancing sidelong at him. "You know, it could be a good thing. Right? Maybe he's working them and was worried you were going to mess up his plan, just needed you out of the way for some heroic stunt he's got in the works." She's trying, at least.

"Maybe. What I need to know is _why_. Was it 'cause me an him go back? Or because we're actually on different sides of this here thing?"

Tara sighs, turns onto the highway. "Guess you're going to have to ask him."

\---

 _There are things he knows about the team that even Nate doesn't know._

 _He knows that Sophie's just her favorite alias, and that it goes back further even than Katherine and Jessica, so long, now, that Alec has to wonder if it's become permanent. But he also knows where it came from, thanks to a twenty-year old write-up on a school play in a council estate newsletter from 1985._

 _He knows how smart Parker had been, destroying just enough of her own records- protective services, doctors, courts- so that someone searching would think they had the whole story, but not her full name. Never that. Even Alec hasn't been able to find out where she'd stayed between the ages of ten and twelve. Maybe she'll tell him one of these days, maybe she won't._

 _He suspects that Eliot's probably not the one responsible for wiping most of his history off the face of the planet, because he probably would have gotten rid of the last traces of that near-miss in Belgrade, if he'd known about them._

 _Liam Kenny had been arrested under suspicion of espionage, though the authorities hadn't really had anything on him. They'd released him within twelve hours, but not before snapping a booking photo. He's six foot three, with blonde hair and pinprick blue eyes. They're cruel, and Alec hates him on sight, but this tells him nothing._

 _The report's arrest summary is more enlightening. Authorities had tracked Kenny to a hotel in downtown Belgrade, kicking the door down at four in the morning and finding him scrambling out of bed. There's a comical line from one of the arresting officers that indicates he'd been torn between finding his clothes and looking for a weapon._

 _There's a less comical paragraph coming next. The man who'd been sharing the bed with him was already armed. After a standoff, in which the man was assured that they were only there for Kenny. He'd gotten dressed, given them his information. The ID said Kevin Jackson, and the address had probably been a fake, even then. They'd taken his photo and flagged him as a person of interest in an ongoing investigation that proved to go nowhere, fast._

 _His hair's short, his face too young to look that fucking evil, but there's no question about it. It's Eliot, and the only reason Alec knows about it is because he'd finally stopped putting off updating his facial recognition software on a Tuesday morning. And now he has to sit here all day long, with Eliot at the end of Nate's couch, wondering._

 _Maybe it was just a job. Maybe it ties in with Moreau. The likelihood is enough to stop him from asking._

 _But he also knows that Eliot's the kind of guy who'll do anything to get the job done, and that Liam Kenny was arrested on charges that look an awful lot like Eliot's particular skill set. Which means that Kenny had either been a mark, a scapegoat, or just someone who'd gotten caught in the crossfire. Possibly by accident._

 _Parker's waving him over, quietly because she still hasn't figured out that they're allowed to talk to each other when everyone else is around. Right. The movie starts in half an hour._

 _It takes five seconds to erase all mention of Kevin Jackson from the report, another ten to gather his things and tell the others they're leaving. Eliot's glancing up from his magazine, catches Alec's eye for a second, and there's nothing there, now, that hasn't always been there, nothing guarded or different or worrying._

 _Alec sits next to Parker in the back row of the theater and watches the screen's explosions and gunfire, and he has no idea why the characters are fighting, even an hour into the movie. He's still hung up on puzzling out Kelly and Jackson. Enemies, friends, marks or lovers, or something else entirely._

 _Any or all, though, he tells himself, they're absolutely none of his business._

 _He doesn't remember what movie he'd seen when Sophie asks him the next morning._

\---

The cruiser's been stashed in the garage downstairs, coffee's been made, but within ten minutes, the crew's run out of things to talk about. Ferrara's trucks have all split up and are taking different circuitous routes through all five boroughs, now, but that could mean anything. Ferrara's crew's been running silent; it's impossible to tell if they're trying to shake any tails they might have picked up, or if their plan's so solid that they don't need to.

Alec's gotten pretty good at this- planning, thinking on his feet, the rest of it- but this time it's different. The best idea he's got is the one he _can't_ do. He's _not_ going to call Nate in on this one. Yet. The fact Tara hasn't even suggested it is proof enough that it's a bad idea. Nate's retired, Sophie too, but they're liable to get up in arms over this one, and if it's as bad as it looks- if Eliot's _really_ gone darkside- Alec doesn't want them anywhere _near_ this.

By the time the food arrives, though, he's considering calling Parker.

The others' concerns are more mundane. The food they've ordered is at the door. Ravi's halfway to answering it before he turns, craning his neck. "Hang on. I got it last time. Whose turn is it to pay?"

"Mine," Jason stands up, hand going to his pocket to grab his wallet. Then he tries another pocket. Then he's going for his jacket. " _Shit_."

"Seriously?" Alec smirks. This isn't the first time it's happened. "You lost your wallet? Again?"

"No. I mean. _Yeah_." Realization dawns on his face as he looks at Hardison. It's almost comical. "Shit. The fight. I lost it."

"Aw, hell man."

Tara's gone ahead, purse in hand, to cover the food, but Alec's lost his appetite. Jason is torn between furious and humiliated, and neither one is going to cover for the fact that they might have left a trail.

"How? That thing was chained to your-"

In reply, Jason shows him the torn belt loop on his jeans.

"And you didn't feel that?"

Jason thinks back for a moment and his shoulders drop. "Had to have happened during the fight. Shit." Brightening slightly, though, he glances at Maria. "But that's where I keep my tracker, so... shouldn't be too hard to find, right? I can go pick it up."

"Hold up. If it's back at the yard, it's cool, but..."

For the record, Alec doesn't know if Jason should be looking relieved or worried either, so he's not going to think much on it. He brings up the tracker on Maria's computer and ignores her glares. She's looking over his shoulder as if waiting for him to crash her systems just by breathing near it. But a few moments' watching confirms that the tracker's just arrived at the Ravel Hotel down in Long Island.

"Good news. It's been recovered. Bad news. I'm guessing Eliot has it."

"Fuck," Jason rubs at his arm, and it's surreal to be wincing in sympathy for the other side of one of Eliot's fights. "That ain't good."

"We don't know _what_ that is," Alec points out, though he wants to agree, because history or not, _Jason's_ his crew now, and Eliot attacked him. "Which identification were you carrying?"

"My legit stuff. Needed it for the gig."

"Your address current?"

Jason's getting pissed, now, but the timely appearance of Tara with an icepack does a lot to forestall it; he merely nods. "Yeah."

"You're not crashing there tonight," Alec chides himself hearing the words leaving his mouth; it's one of the surefire ways to infuriate a hitter. Trying to lessen the proverbial blow, he eases up. "Not until we get a read on this."

" _Why?_ " And no, Alec's backpedalling hadn't worked. Ridiculous to think that it would, really, and Jason's sneer is only reiterating the point. "He's not staking my apartment out. Besides. The guy just _decked_ you, right? Ain't like he's all-"

"He can do a hell of a lot more if he finds himself a reason and the time," Alec doesn't make the mistake of leaving room for argument. "So I'm gonna get up ahead of both of those." Grabbing an egg roll in a napkin, he digs his keys out of his pocket. Tara's already heading back towards the door. Thankfully, she waits until they're in the stairwell to point out the obvious.

"You know, if Eliot wanted to set up a trap..."

"I know."

"This starts going south, I'm calling in Sophie."

"Then we'll just have to be careful." Alec knows his grin is more confident than he feels, but either he's getting better at selling this sort of thing, or Tara's letting him slide.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ ](http://s565.photobucket.com/albums/ss94/jendavisjendavis/?action=view&current=IStillRememberFinalDivider2.jpg)

Ferrara gets creative when he's angry, and this, tonight? He's got reason to be.

Pushing the deal back a few days would be the safe route. So of _course_ Ferrara wants it moved up instead. It's going down tomorrow night. Twenty four hours from now. Which means Eliot has to spend half an hour on the phone, tracking down all the buyers. Thankfully, they're all local, most of them are in town already, and they're just as eager to get on with this as Ferrara is. There's some pushback from Korse, who wants to know why, but Eliot's explanation of events is more than enough to get him on side, for now.

Then again, Korse and the other buyers aren't the ones who have to make it work. They just have to show up. And Eliot's the only one out here trying to figure out how to prepare for _Alec Fucking Hardison._ Who might not be the most evil bastard on the face of the planet, but he's probably one of the smartest, and definitely one of the most likely to stick his nose where it doesn't belong.

He'll figure it out. He'll handle it. But what's really getting him is how fucking _obvious_ this should've been, right from the start. He'd _known_ Hardison was going to be at the docks, ever since catching sight of him at the airport. He should've been ready to derail him, send him off the scent, make some excuses, whatever. There was no other way tonight could've played out except for _better_. Everyone got out okay, but they've got bigger problems coming. He's sure of it.

And Eliot has to do his job, whether he likes it or not, but hell. Four words could've solved all of this.

 _It's cool. Trust me._

It would've been a lie, but it would've been a hell of a lot safer for everyone.

Four words and they'd be clear of this. Instead he'd let himself be surprised by Hardison's sudden appearance, the way his features sorted themselves into a recognizable face in the low light.

But it hadn't been all that recognizable, really.

Hardison hadn't been grinning, he hadn't been laughing. He'd looked calculating, angry even. Whatever his game was- because of _course_ he was working a job- was evidently going south. The way jobs did. But Hardison hadn't whined, hadn't complained, he'd just barked out a shift in direction. And it's not like he'd been some quiet kid back in the day, but there was no flailing defense of whatever he was saying. He was giving orders like he _expected_ them to be heard.

It's been five years, but even so, this shouldn't be surprising.

\---

 _Eliot's skeptical of the setup Hardison's got going, but he'd be a total asshole if he just bailed, leaving him here with his coolers and lawn chairs and whatever-the-hell-he-did to the television. Besides. He kind of wants to see the look on Nate's face when he comes and discovers what's become of his apartment._

 _"Okay, fine," he agrees, finally cutting Hardison's animated defense of his plan by grabbing a beer from the cooler, taking the controller Hardison hands him, and looking up at the screen. "So how's this work, anyway?"_

 _\---_

 _"It's just not the same," he decides after an hour or so, to which Hardison response almost inevitably, "No. It's better," and proceeds to reel in another fake bass._

 _Because apparently Hardison can only enjoy something if there are numbers involved, some way of keeping score. The guy's never been fishing for real before, doesn't get that the point of it _isn't_ actually catching anything. And it's not like Eliot sits around all night spinning stories, but the game leaves no way to embellish the size of the catches later on._

It's only a hypothetical annoyance, but Eliot adds it to the list anyway.

Still, though. An few hours and a few beers go by, he's chilled out some despite himself. This hadn't been what he'd wanted, but it's actually been, well, lame and boring, but kind of good. Surprising, maybe, that Hardison would go to these lengths, or that yeah, when he's not running for his life, or running off at the mouth, he's actually alright company.

He's decent company when he is running for his life, too, not that Eliot has much to compare him by- some refugees back in Kenya, Chapman when the Militsiya was getting too close. He's not as bad at thinking on his feet as he seems, and once he'd stopped panicking and found his spine, he'd been fine. Wouldn't have slowed Eliot down at all if he hadn't been so intent on arguing. But he can move fast. He's in really good shape. And Eliot really needs to stop that train of thought right freakin' now, because he's seen how that game ends, and he hasn't played it for years.

And besides, Hardison's into Parker. This, here, this isn't anything, this is just hanging out drinking beer while Hardison shows off.

As if on cue, Hardison starts crowing again, beaming as the scores flash on the screen. It's so far removed from the terrified expression he'd been wearing all day that when he brings up another screen- like he's already decided that Eliot will stick around a while longer, no need to bother asking- Eliot doesn't bother to contradict him.

Maybe it's because the best cons leave the mark thinking they've won. Or maybe it's just that he's still got half a beer left, and he's just starting to get the hang of the game. He flexes his hands, shakes loose the cramping from the controls. Another round, and maybe he'll beat Hardison this time.

\----

Ignoring the part of his brain that's insisting that _yeah_ , the control had looked _good_ on Hardison, Eliot dumps Jason Malley's wallet out on the hotel bed. ID, credit cards, cash, wads of receipts and the odd phone number scrawled on the back of a business card. Nothing immediately identifiable as connecting Malley to Hardison, but that's not supposed to be what he's looking for.

So he's not disappointed.

The license gives an address though, and if Eliot's lucky, it's real enough to tie back to some sort of safe house, maybe, or at least a front. He's got a few hours before he's due to meet up with Ferrara back at the warehouse. It's enough time to try getting ahead of the shit storm. If he's lucky, it's even enough for a rematch. He can sleep when he's dead.

He's shoving the contents back into the wallet when he feels it. Running his fingers over the leather and along the nylon lining again, he finds the small bump under the lining. It could be an imperfection, some grit that worked its way behind the seam.

Looking closer, though, he can see that the stitches are a little longer, the sheen on the thread's a bit more green than blue, here. It doesn't quite match. Using the knife from his pocket, he slits it open, and yeah, there it is. It's the size of a grain of rice and looks like nothing at all until he gets it under the light and brings it up close.

He'd kept his in his watch, years ago, before he'd thrown it overboard in the Adriatic in a fit of... _Something_. He'd had to imagine it hitting the water below; the waves had been far too loud to hear anything at all, a grain of rice wouldn't have been anything to all that water.

This one's a bit smaller, but it's got all the impact of a warning shot. They'll be here soon. Best to get rid of it, stick it on a car heading anywhere but here, throw them off his track before he rounds back to scope out Malley's address. He'll have to think of something to tell Ferrara later when he switches hotels, but that doesn't matter right now. He knows when he's running against the clock.

He's reaching for the handle when there's a pounding on the door. Eliot's luck is just as shitty as it's been all day.

\---

Eliot opens the door, and Alec gets his first good look at him in five years.

He's leaner, now, not carrying the same muscle mass he was a few years ago, though he still looks like he could snap a tree in half. He's darker, too, though the tan doesn't reach into the creases around his eyes, and Alec can't tell in this light if his hair's been lightened by the sun, or if it's gray creeping in.

It's never occurred to him that Eliot would get older. It occurs to him that _he_ , however, might not age another ten minutes if he doesn't get to talking. Tara standing next to him isn't going to save him from _shit_.

"Need you to be straight with me." He ignores the weird thrill that comes with realizing that Eliot's _right fucking here_. There's too much riding on this to waste time with small talk, much less pay any mind to his inner twelve year old, who's starting to worry about his wording. "Are you working for Ferrara, or just _working_ him?"

Eliot's been scowling since he opened the door, but there's a slight shift to it now. Like he's deciding whether to lie or not, and maybe it's petty, but it shouldn't be Eliot's eyes darting up over Alec's shoulder to Tara that prods him to continue. "Nothing you need to worry about."

He'd never _really_ been able to tell when Eliot's lying. Why he thought _this_ would be any different is suddenly comically beyond him.

"Okay, I'll take that as gospel," he decides. _For now_. It might not be enough to get them through this, but it's enough to get him and Tara through the door. Once it's closed behind him, he starts again. "You tell Ferrara's people about us?"

Eliot thinks for a moment, crossing his arms with a shrug. "They don't know who you really are. I told 'em that you chased off the kid I'd chased down, they filled in the rest." That sneer he's wearing probably hasn't changed since Eliot was a _kid_. "That good enough for you, Detective Bedwetter?"

Five years ago he would've explained how _The Caveman's Valentine_ was both underrated and woefully unappreciated, but now it just seems petty. But he doesn't need this shit, either. "It's _Ledbetter_ , as in _Roman Ledbetter_ , which you'd _know_ if you spent more time catching up on the classics and less time dabblin' in human trafficking."

Shaking his head, Eliot rolls his eyes. "I'm not dabbling-"

"So, _what_ , it's a full-time job?"

"Hardison," Tara's pinching the bridge of her nose. It's a warning, but he's not sure that it matters. Anything else he can think of to say is going to lead down that same path, right to the fight, and part of him wouldn't have it any other way.

Eliot's tapping his foot now, impatiently glaring from him to her and back again, and Alec resists the urge to flinch away under the scrutiny. "Ain't none of your concern, but for what it's worth, this is all legit. I'm undercover."

There's a rush of relief that wants to crash, but Alec's shoving it aside for now. His _wanting_ to believe him doesn't mean he _gets_ to, and it will be easy enough to look into it later if it's true, and it's not an answer at all. Alec tries again. "What's your game?"

Eliot turns his back as he crosses back towards the window. but they're five stories up and they've got him backed into a corner, here. He snorts derisively, though, still managing to look like he's got some modicum of control of the situation. "You first."

Alec sighs. _Whatever._ "We've got track and trace running on Ferrara's operation. Monitoring for changed plays, so we can move in ahead of him." He doesn't mention the tracker that Eliot's carrying in Jason's wallet, or the bugs and trackers Ravi's putting in Eliot's car right now, and he sure as _hell_ doesn't mention their client.

There's an angry twitch in Eliot's jaw, but he's starting to look _worried_ , too. But he's not telling them anything, either.

Alec tries another track. "Anyway. Haven't got wind that anyone else was up on this. So who are you working with?" The glare he gets in return is so patronizing it actually makes him feel a little better, but Eliot's not giving him anything useful. He's on the right track, but he's not there yet. "Come on, man. You can trust me."

"I don't even know if I _know_ you," Eliot points out, still ignoring the question. But Alec's learned to be patient. He says nothing at all, and after nearly a minute, Eliot sighs, sits down on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, he's either trying to get himself to relax, or trying to get Alec into letting his guard down. "Alright, look. Long story short, Ferrara's spooked. Your play worked, which means that he's moving the sale up to tomorrow night."

Alec feels Tara's eyes on him, and knows what she's thinking without looking. The surveillance, so far, hasn't indicated this at all. Though to be honest, it hasn't indicated anything to the contrary, either. He's about to tell Eliot that it's not enough, that they need more from him, when Eliot's fists tighten on his knees and he fixes them with a sudden level gaze.

"You asked me who I'm working with, I'm not telling you that. Not yet. But I've got my partner hanging on the inside, with no way in, three dozen possible civilian casualties, and backup that ain't gonna be here for two days. So congratulations, man. You totally fucked me.

"You've got a partner?" It's a stupid thing to be hung up on, and if he'd had it to do twice he would've kept the surprise out of his voice, but apparently, he's finally found the key into the system. Eliot doesn't even need prompting.

"We needed to make sure there was someone who could keep them calm when the shit hits the fan, so one of my team rode with the women. Easier to get dozens of people to move out of harm's way when they can understand you, and they'll be more likely to listen if they already know you." He sounds like he's reciting something from memory. "Two weeks in a shipping container might not make you the best of friends, but it's enough for conversation."

"So the options are..."

Eliot holds up one finger. "I let her go with whoever _buys_ her tomorrow, since _our_ buyers won't be in play for the extraction, and hope I can stick on her trail." Holding up a second, he continues. "Or risk busting her out, burning both of us, and killing up to thirty seven. So yeah. That's where we're at."

 _Fuck_.

"So again," Eliot mutters, shaking his head. "I thank you for your help."

"Oh, come _off_ it." Tara steps forward, hands raised. "Look, both of you. The way I see it, either we keep stepping on each others toes, or we all work together." She turns to Eliot. "I know you're not wild about this, but you know enough to know that we're not going to put anybody at risk. We _did_ , after all, show up to help these women out tonight. And honestly? We could probably pull it off without you."

"Really?" Eliot smirks. "What's your plan, once you've got the women clear?"

"Admittedly, it ain't gotten that far," Alec says. It's not entirely true, but the plan Eliot doesn't know about is the plan that Eliot can't mess up.. "But we're good at improvising, and should at least be able to keep the situation under control until your people show up."

"Nice prep work," Eliot grimaces, shaking his head. " _Real_ thorough."

"Says the man who's backup plan is _where_ , exactly?"

Eliot's about to stand up and deck him. Alec can _feel_ it. But he doesn't back down, if for no other reason than this: if Eliot's lying, Alec knows he's prepared to deal with it. If he's being honest, then they only have to figure out where to stash the women for a day or so. And if it's some combination of the two, well. There's two days before Eliot's reinforcements arrive. He'll come up with something.

Tara's pulling him slightly aside, trying to play diplomat. "You _do_ realize that if we're going to be screwed on this, then, given the options, it's Eliot you want doing the screwing. Better him than someone you have no history with, right?"

Alec's mouth goes dry, _fast_ and his nerves are suddenly singing with the tension. But that's not what she's talking about. More importantly, neither of them caught his reaction, they're too busy watching each other. Looking for tells.

"Yeah. Honorable double cross is a specialty of mine." Sneering, Eliot checks his watch as he decides how much to relent. It takes him a moment, but he eventually relaxes enough for Alec to rub two brain cells together.

"Okay. So here's where we're at. Counting the inside woman, and if Tara's willing to stick around another night, there are seven of us. Eliot? How many people we need to worry about on Ferrara's crew?"

"Right now, they're weak. It's Ferrara, Fletcher, Katsaros and me. I'm the advance man, setting things up with the buyers, clearing locations, and I handle peripheral security. Fletcher you know, he's Ferrara's right hand, coordination and all that. Katsaros, he shepherds the women. He's Ferrara's main hitter, but now that the deal's close, we're rotating out guard duty. And my shift starts in an hour."

Alec nods. "Give us a little while and we'll have something, okay?" Digging the comm unit out of his pocket, he holds it out. "Here. We'll be in touch, tell you what you need to do."

Eliot considers it suspiciously for a little too long, long enough that Alec starts to think it's going to be a thing, but he eventually takes it. "I don't know what's goin' on in that thick skull of yours, but I _never_ took orders from you."

"Then don't," Hardison shrugs. "Just consider your options, _whatever_ the hell they are."

\---

Tara waits until they're back in the car before speaking.

"You _do_ realize there's nothing stopping him from ditching the earpiece, right?"

"True enough. You plant the bug?"

"Yeah. He'll find it in twenty."

"If he's looking," he dials Maria. "He's got to be getting on the move in a little while."

"Hey Hardison," Maria says, clicking on the line. "How'd it go?"

"Set up for another comm link onto the open channel, from earpiece B13. Eliot's in."

"You sure?"

"We're more useful to him than a hindrance right now. He bucks, it won't be until later. Set his earpiece up to ping us when he turns it on, though, I don't want him surprising us."

"Done. Anything else?"

"We're on our way back. Be there soon."

By the time they're turning into his neighborhood, he's had some time to think, and there's something he needs to run past Tara.

"If he's here legitimately, wouldn't it be easier for him to contact his superiors and have them make arrangements for bringing in backup? Hell, the police would have jurisdiction here, wouldn't they?"

"Yeah."

"So why doesn't he just call in a SWAT team?"

"Why don't _we_?" Tara smirks.

"Because we're criminals. It would be counterproductive."

"So you're thinking-"

"That whatever he's saying, he ain't clean enough for him to go through proper channels."

"Then it's a good thing we're here, isn't it?"

Alec sighs. "Maybe."

\---

The south wall is lined with chain link cages, and though Eliot's not sure what they'd been used for a lifetime ago- equipment storage, probably- now all six of them are filled with scared women. All of them- even Aisha- grow even more nervous when they see him. Depressing as hell, but it's a good reminder. He's not their friend, they can't know that he's on their side.

Aisha's in the second cell from the end, watching him watch them. Her eyes widen just slightly. It's all the warning she can afford.

Eliot spins to find that he's got less space than he'd had a moment ago. Fletcher has an apologetic look on his face, but his hand's gone near his back, and Katsaros has got a lead pipe. Both stop short. Their guns are still holstered.

"Strip down," Katsaros says, and Eliot rolls his eyes, but complies. It's not like he hasn't been expecting this, but the delay is setting his teeth on edge and the shift in routine is making the women nervous. He turns his back, but he can still feel their eyes burning into him through the fence.

The comms have been quiet for a while now, but he can hear Jason talking to Hardison. "You want me in?"

 _Shit_. This could get complicated, fast.

"No, he's cool," Hardison's voice answers, and Eliot shouldn't be surprised that he's being watched. He wonders where the cameras are hidden. Probably up in the rafters somewhere. "But be ready."

Eliot should really be paying attention to the men with weapons. He smirks.

"Shit, man, jumpy enough?" Shirt first, tossed to the ground, then boots and jeans, and he smirks derisively as he turns back to Fletcher and Katsaros, spreading his arms. "This good? What're we doin' next, Brokeback, or broken backs?"

Katsaros considers the pipe in his hands, like he's trying to determine if the advantage it provides will last three seconds once he's stepped into striking range. It's clear that he still hasn't forgotten what Eliot had done to the Russian border patrol officers who'd decided their bribes were looking a little small, and _they'd_ been armed with Kalashnikovs.

Fletcher, though, he's rummaging through Eliot's pockets. Finding nothing, he finally eases up.

"Sorry, man," he says, tossing the clothes back. "Didn't have a bead on you, you know how it-"

Ferrara's voice booms from behind him, echoing off the metal and concrete. "Jackson. Thanks for joining us. We are waiting to hear your assurances that you haven't just punched your own ticket."

Kevin Jackson's nervous around Ferrara, always has been. There's no good reason to blow his cover now by mouthing off, so Eliot nods. "You sure this place is clean?"

"Only way it wouldn't be is if someone walked in right now while we're all standing here yapping," Ferrara points out, gesturing at Eliot's shirt. "Quit pissing around."

"Right." Stepping into his boots, he explains. "I doubled back after y'all, nobody was tailing us. Went back to the hotel and laid low, just like you said. Check the mileage on the car if you don't believe me."

Ferrara nods his head to the side. _I could_ , he means, _but I won't_. "Right now, we've got bigger problems. You been on the horn at all with our friends in the Maldives?"

"No. What's going on?"

"Not only was tonight complete and utter _bullshit_ , our supply line's been hit. This might be our last job for a while, on _top_ of the spooked buyers. And I swear, Jackson, if I hear from you that our buyers have jumped-"

"They're all on board, but Laspersky's sending in a representative since he can't make it himself." There. He's done it. He's set up an opening for Hardison, which Hardison will probably blow completely when the time comes. "The rest are all locals, and from the sound of it, want this done as soon as possible anyway."

"Lucky thing," Fletcher adds, trying like always to ingratiate himself.

"Luck isn't anything I want to count on," Ferrara spins on him, causing Fletcher to take half a step back. "You'll check out Laspersky's emissary?"

"Of course. Meeting him off-site and bringing him in myself."

"That's another thing. I moved the handoff."

Fletcher's been nodding along. "Where is it?"

"Loose lips sink ships, Fletcher. You'll know when you _need_ to know."

"So what do we do in the meantime?"

"We wait. You two are on babysitting duty." Fletcher's face falls, and Ferrara notices, grinning. " _You_ slept on the plane," he points out, before turning again to Eliot. "And _you_ , Jackson, well. That was sloppy, back in the yard. Katsaros and I will be back in six hours." He's halfway to the door before he remembers the three dozen terrified women. "There's a late-night grocery store three blocks down, get them watered and fed. And get some combs or something, last thing we need is the buyers backing out because they're too disgusted by the product."

Katsaros follows Ferrara out through the loading dock, and for a while, it's just him and Fletcher.

"You want to go or should I?" Fletcher, sighs. He obviously wants to be anywhere but here- like in a hotel bed, asleep- but that's not the job and he knows it.

"I'll take care of it," Eliot replies, stretching, glancing sideways in Aisha's direction, but she's not looking back. "Just stay awake until I get back, or we're _both_ dead."

"You got it."

\---

It's obvious when Eliot leaves, because Alec can hear a car door slamming and an engine starting up.

"Hardison? You get all that?" Maybe it's the distance, or the fact that both of them have had a while to cool down. Or maybe Alec's starting to get his hopes up and he's more willing to play along, but this is familiar, sitting in his darkened office with nothing but the monitor for light, watching the grainy video feeds and tracking a dozen audio channels at the same time, while Eliot does the prep work on the mark.

"Loud and clear," his answer's cut off by a yawn. "We've got the feeds going, but I'm leaving Jason out there until you get back from the store just to be on the safe side."

"Right on. Should be pretty quiet for a while now."

"Good," Alec nods. "In that case, I'm gonna head up, try and get some shut eye. Ravi and Maria are taking turns on monitoring. They see anything, they'll wake my ass up. Otherwise, call if you need anything. We'll pick it up in the morning."

\---

"Honestly, you're about to be getting on my _last_ nerve, if you don't watch yourself," Maria grumbles the third or forth time he asks for an update. "Go get some sleep. We've got this."

"I know, but-"

"No. I have to grill your friend for embarrassing stories about you from back in the day."

"Seriously?" Alec scoffs, but he can hear the chuckling on the line.

"What?" Eliot says, his voice surprisingly amused for the moment. "Haven't you told them about _Ice Man_ yet?"

"I hate you all," Alec flops down on his bed, realizing after a moment that there's no response. Maria's cut off the feed to his earbud. Sure, he could go downstairs, get back on the system and get back online, but he doesn't.

His crew's got this. They know what they're doing.

Tomorrow's going to be a madhouse. He needs sleep.

But there's this small part of his brain that he's trying to ignore that's sending a giddy thrill up his spine at the thought that, even if he's never again going to be able to look his own crew in the eye again- _Eliot_ is the one telling them why. And yeah, half of whatever he says is going to be complete bullshit- the Ice Man had been a _great_ idea- but that's not the point.

Because if Eliot's talking about him, it means he's _thinking_ about him.

And it's only making Alec think _harder_.

And hell, that's half of what got them into this mess in the first place.

\---

 _And finally, he can see the sky, and there are hands pulling him out of the coffin. He can't track anything he's seeing after so long in the dark, but he hears Nate's "Welcome to the land of the living," and then just. Tumbling into Eliot, because he's there, because Eliot's still tugging at him and isn't shoving him away, yet._

 _"Never do that again man," Eliot says gruffly, like he's trying to tell him off, but he sounds more freaked than angry and his arms are squeezing tighter over Alec's shoulders, his hand on the back of his neck. "Don't do that again."_

 _"I won't, I won't." He knows he's babbling, knows he's holding on to him too hard, but Eliot's breath is warm against his throat. He's reminding him how this goes. It's not the first breath he's taken above ground, but it's the first one that he's got any control over at all._

 _Eliot doesn't shove him off, even when it feels like he might, but Alec's okay. He's found his footing._

 _Nate's there, arm already raised when he steps towards him, and Sophie's got a hand on his back even before he turns to her, relieved concern so obvious in her face that it's humiliating. And there's an emptiness around him, now, where Parker's supposed to be, but she's standing too far away. Looking at him like her heart's all kinds of broken, hand going to her head in desperate confusion._

 _He's standing here with tears on his face that he's still too shaky to wipe off, and even Eliot's letting that slide right now, but this? It's suddenly a little mortifying. For a moment, he thinks maybe she'll do something, say something, but instead, she turns and walks walking away._

 _After all that, she's walking away._

 _He's able to think now. He can handle this. It's Parker. She's the only reason he's alive right now, this much he knows. But it's still too intense for her to handle. He'll catch up with her later. Make sure she's okay._

 _It's not until late that night, once they're back at Nate's, that Eliot steps up next to him at the sink. Doesn't look at him, now. Just says that Parker's downstairs. Rinses out his beer bottle and heads back into the living room._

 _Inside McRory's, he finds her with tears on her face again. She can barely look at him, and he's got no idea how she needs him to play this, what she does or doesn't want to hear, but she's been avoiding him - _this_ \- all evening, and he's got to tell her._

"I never would've made it through that without you, you know that, right Parker?

"Oh that's not true. Anyone can learn to hold their breath."

He kisses her cheek, winds up hitting close to her ear. Maybe it's funny, maybe that's why she's smiling but it's not enough to wipe that wrecked look off her face and he doesn't know what else to do, here.

"Thanks for not hanging up the phone," he says, because she needs to hear it. That much, she can handle. Her nod's nervous and she's avoiding his eyes as much as possible. She's trying to smile, though. He's trying too.

When he heads for the back door, glances back, he sees her still working at that smile. It's frustrating, tiring, and it's all his fault, somehow. He should've had her figured out enough by now to do better.

Eliot's coming down the back stairs and spots him right away, giving him a measuring look that Alec can't dodge. For an instant, he's certain that this snark ceasefire they've been maintaining all day is about to come to an end, but now just ain't the time.

"C'mon," Eliot says instead, tiredly opening the door into the parking lot. "I'll drive you home."

Alec's keys are in his pocket. He can make it home just fine.

He accepts anyway.

\---

Alec gets downstairs at ten past seven to find that he's going to have to murder his _entire_ crew.

As soon as he's done with Eliot.

Because Maria's not crashed on the couch, and she's not home sleeping. She's not even just making a coffee run. She's locked in a cage on the docks.

\---

What's really unbelievable is that Ravi can't seem to understand why this is a problem.

"It was Maria's _idea_ ," he says, holding his hands up placatingly as Alec backs him away from the computers. He's not sure what he's going to _do_ with them yet, but at least he's in position.

"Tell me what happened."

"I was asleep on the couch. My alarm went off about ten minutes ago for my shift, and she was already gone. Here." He risks reaching past Alec to bring up a document on the screen.

 _Rav, I'm at the docks, filling in for Eliot's partner for a while so they can get some face time to get her up to speed on things. Don't wake Hardison about this. One, it's nothing to worry about. We can trust Eliot. Two, there's no need for him to go nuclear because he's too tired to think._

"I was going to call you," Ravi assures him, nervous, his accent deepening with his unease. "I just had not gotten to it yet. But look. She _is_ on comms, if you want-"

"Oh, we'll be _speaking_ all right." Bringing up the video feed, Alec digs out his earpiece and slips it into place. It takes him a moment to pick her out on the screen, and only the fact that most of the others are lying down, asleep, is on his side. She's changed her clothing into something not-quite sexy and not-quite in season.

She blends in perfectly. He wouldn't have seen her if he hadn't been looking.

"Maria?"

"Hey boss. Can't talk much right now, but everything's cool."

"No, everything is _not_ cool. When we get you get back, you and I, we're going to have a long _talk_ regarding your entire _better to ask forgiveness than permission_ philosophy, you understand?"

" _Chill_. I'm fine. Eliot drugged Fletcher, got me in, and I traded places with Aisha."

"Who the hell is _Aisha_?"

"Part of Eliot's crew." On the screen, Fletcher's starting to stir. It's obviously what has Maria going so suddenly quiet.

"If they see her," Ravi's muttering under his breath, shaking his head. This is where Alec's supposed to have some great idea, but it's a total blank. Onscreen, Fletcher stretches, gives the cages a cursory glance, his finger twitching in the air as he performs the head count. It's hard to tell from the camera angle, but for an instant, Alec's sure, there's a pause, there, where he's pointing at Maria. But it's only the phone in his pocket going off that interrupts him.

"Like they're not going to see you."

"You think they spend a lot of time looking the women in the eye?" Maria grumbles. "If they could, believe me, they wouldn't have been doing this to them in the first place."

Alec sighs. "Eliot? _Eliot_."

No response.

"He had to get Aisha out of here a while ago," Maria mutters, going suddenly quiet again, and yeah, okay, fine. It's probably not a good idea to push, not while she's in the same room as several loaded weapons. But nobody else seems to have any answers for him. According to the tracker, Eliot's car has been at the hotel for the past hour.

"Call Jason, Ravi. I don't care if it's you or him, but I want _one_ of you on your way heading to the warehouse in three fucking minutes, you feel me?" And this, Alec belatedly realizes, is exactly what Nate had warned him about, years ago. So far, though, he's only seen it in his nightmares. As Ravi gets on the phone, Alec swings into the kitchen, keeping his voice steady.

"Maria, you okay?"

"Aces." She's not, not by a long shot, but she's trying to sound confident. While sitting in a cage with three dozen other hostages, guarded by men with guns.

"All right. You'll be fine. Keep it cool, alright?"

He wants to take the comms out, wants to just _think_ for a while. He really needs a cup of coffee. He needs to not stalk into the warehouse with a case full of fake guns and hope for the best. He needs to not do something that obviously stupid. And at some point today, not only does he need to work out the details of Plan A (Get In, Get Out, Get Gone), he's got to make sure that Plan B (Throw Eliot Fucking Spencer to the Lions) is fucking _seamless_.

\---

It's a thirty minute drive to the hotel at the best of times. Hardison makes it in twenty, and Eliot must _know_ , must have been waiting for him, because he's got the door swinging open before Alec even gets the chance to knock.

There's a woman standing by the window, dressed in the clothes Maria's been wearing last night. Her arms are crossed, and she's sizing him up like _he's_ the threat. Eliot, however, looks less certain.

"Ah, Aisha Gale, Alec Hardison," he waves a hand between them. "Hardison, Aisha."

"Yeah, pleasure," Alec says through grit teeth. She's tall, with fair skin, brown hair going blonde at the roots, and dark eyes. And an even darker grin. She's not an unknown, though, not entirely. She and Eliot have this intimacy between them that might mean nothing at all, or might explain everything, but Alec can't figure it out. But he suspects that he _should_. She almost looks familiar.

She's clearly able to read the tension in the room. "I'll be down in the lobby." Her voice is eastern European, and it sounds practiced, like Sophie when she was working a mark.

"All right," Eliot says, still staring Alec down, ready to attack if he needs to. "Give us five minutes."

" _Ten_ ," Alec counters. He's got plans on _arguing_.

"Ten it is," she says, diplomatically, and pauses next to Alec on her way out the door, her face softening by a measured degree. "Your friend Maria. She's going to be fine, I promise you."

"She damn well _better_ be," Alec growls, but mostly it's directed at Eliot, and she seems to know it, slipping out without another word.

He waits for the door to close, and realizes he doesn't even know where to start.

He hasn't even realized that punching Eliot in the jaw is an option. Not until he's already done it.

\---

Eliot's surprise is about the only thing that Alec's got going for him. It wears off quickly, and then Eliot's got him pinned to the wall, bracing his forearm against his shoulders, sneering up into his face and shaking his head, amused.

"Seriously?" The grinding of the wrist behind Alec's back, when Eliot presses in, is a clear reminder of all the things he was capable of, even back when he was a _known_ quantity. Now, it's anybody's guess. But he's not taking Alec seriously enough to _attack_ seriously. With a final shove, Eliot steps back, grinning almost fondly. "I really wouldn't have thought you had it in you."

 _Me neither_ , Alec doesn't admit. It's been a long time and they don't know each other as well as they think they do. He's not fooling himself into thinking that Eliot's going to start looking over his shoulder, but maybe he's a little off balance, now. He's not bringing a hand up, not broadcasting or anything, but Alec can see his jaw working itself. He'd felt the punch, at least.

Alec rolls his neck and pushes away from the wall, straightening his collar. "The _hell_ were you thinking? You might be able to kick my ass, but messing with my crew was a mistake. You _know_ this ain't even the beginning of how bad things can get for you and yours."

Eliot rolls his eyes, and Alec's thinking about punching him again. Better, this time. Harder. Other side of the face, just for symmetry's sake, so he can't smirk without wincing. "First off, Maria volunteered, okay?"

"Doesn't fucking matter. Right now, Maria's off the _grid_. Locked in a _cage_ waiting to be sold into slavery if this ain't fixed. And _you're_ the one who put her there."

Maria's been silent through all this, but she's got the nerve to use _tone_ with him right now. Un-fucking-believable. "Hardison, you _know_ that I'm _fine_."

"Yeah, it really seems like y'all got it under control. So tell me." He knows he's being a jerk right now, but it's what she needs to hear. She needs to _get_ this. "Let's say the goons actually _notice_. Are you okay with Jason having to come in there, risk his life, yours, and _everyones'_ , on Eliot's word?"

There's nothing on the line. There's a shift in her breathing; it could mean anything.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry." There's no sass coming from her this time. He tells himself it's progress, but it's already gone this far sideways. There's no helping it.

Eliot at least has the good sense to look wary, keeping his eyes focused on Alec's hands. He flexes his fingers just to watch the movement register.

"Fuck whatever you've been doin' all this time, this ain't how we _do_ things."

"I know," he shrugs, like he knows he's supposed to mean it but hasn't quite gotten there yet. "And I'm sorry it played out this way, you not bein' in the loop, but we had the opening and needed to move fast. I had to warn Aisha about the change in plans and find out if she'd heard anything out at sea, and there are too many eyes in the warehouse."

"The plans? _What_ plans? You mean the ones I haven't even _told_ you about yet?"

" _Exactly_ ," Eliot's getting up in his face again. "We're on a timeline, here, with no plan at all! Endless monitoring isn't going to do anything." He shakes his head again, as if _Alec's_ being the unreasonable one. "Why the hell do you think I was talking to Maria?"

"Oh, I don't- to screw us over? Because you got bored? Because you're a selfish fuck with no goddamned sense?" He's not sure which of the options catch Eliot's attention, but he's stepping back, looking like he's finally hearing, at least.

"I'm _sorry_. Seriously. And we'll fix it. But she's _fine_ , long as she keeps her head down like me and her talked about. Aisha will be back in place before the deal goes down. Maria's _not_ in any danger."

Backing Eliot into a corner isn't the brightest of ideas, but Alec's too pissed off to care. "That's not your call to make!"

"I volunteered," Maria hisses on the line, and he really doesn't have the time to fight this on two fronts.

"Ain't _yours_ either, girl." Focusing again on Eliot, he leans back, spreads his arms. Yes, he's leaving himself open, but apparently his crew's insanity is infectious. "So. How're you planning on getting her back?"

Eliot proceeds with caution, but his eyes don't slide away. "Basic switch in the truck when we move the women. Before the deal goes down." There's no casual evasion here.

If Alec starts rambling about the fact that Maria's strength is in computers, not hand-to-hand combat or escape techniques, he's going to lose his mind. He takes a deep breath. Backtracks. Another breath for good measure. "So, right. Eliot. Did you have time to discuss everything with your _partner_ to your satisfaction? More to the point, did she learn anything on board that _you_ weren't able to discover, being Ferrara's _right hand man_?"

Eliot pulls out a chair and gestures deliberately at the seat across the table. It feels like a hostage negotiation, and that's actually a pretty fair assessment of their situation. He doesn't answer until Alec sits.

"While they were out at sea, Katsaros was making calls to someone, Aisha thinks it was another supplier. Now, this goes back a while, now, but he and Ferrara, they don't get along too well. Weren't for the common business interests, they'd probably be gunning for each other instead. From what Aisha says, it sounds like Katsaros is looking at setting up with another crew." He's gauging Alec's reaction again. "So one option would be to let him slip past, try to follow him back through to another operation."

"Meaning we let him get away with _this_ one," Alec finishes, dumbfounded. "How's that even _sound_ right to you?"

"Never said it did." Eliot leans back in his chair. He looks exhausted underneath all the irritated bristling. Probably _is_ , but he damned well deserves it. "But knowing that there's a crack to exploit might be worth something, don't you think?"

"It ain't worth putting Maria in a cage," Alec tries to let go of some of the anger, but it's just not happening yet. "What else did you guys get?"

Reaching into his pocket, Eliot passes him a slip of paper- a grocery store receipt, scrawled over with an address and a name. It's a very familiar name. Household, even. It's Ferrara's handwriting. "He passed it to me on my way out this morning," he says, producing a security badge from the same pocket. "I'm supposed to be there by seven to keep an eye on things, make sure there's no surprises before the handoff goes down. He's got an in with their security."

"He must have," Alec feels his lip curling in derision. "Seein' as how most chemical companies _half_ Dow's size don't tend to just let people saunter in to their supply store facilities." This is bad. Not only will Ferrara's crew and the buyers be there, the warehouse has its own security- both computerized and physical- that they'll have to contend with. And yeah, it seems that Eliot's got access enough to get them in. And it'll be easy enough to keep clear of Ferrara once they're inside.

But the fact remains that he still needs a plan B. Because if Eliot had really wanted his trust, he wouldn't have put Maria in danger.

"Okay. Fine. You get us in," he decides, scowling again at the receipt, the fingers on his left hand twitching against nothing as he nods to himself. He suddenly realizes that he might be onto something. It tastes like a plan, like a _real_ plan. Like _two_ plans. "I'll get everyone _out_."

He's halfway to door before the shouting makes him realize he's moved at all.

"Dammit, Hardison! Walkin' off like- You're not _Nate_."

But he's already got the door open; knowing that his grin is just going to piss Eliot off _more_ , he feels it stretch until his face hurts. "Nah, baby. I'm better. See you in twelve hours."

\---

Hardison's taller than he'd remembered. Unreachable, and it's not just the height, it's the eyes, too. The stance is a little wider, a little less worried about making a bigger target.

Either he's been training up, gotten good in a throw-down, or he's just been angry as hell. Probably all three. Alec. Fucking. Hardison. Had managed to connect hard enough to bruise. Had the balls to even _try_. Even after ten minutes talking in circles, it's throwing Eliot more than he wants to admit. Because it probably shouldn't be surprising at all.

Hardison had always been the most upfront in his concern for his crew. Yeah, Sophie had been the one to make sure they were all okay after the fact, but she'd always had this _distance_. Hardison, with all his loud complaints- even when things were perfectly under control- had allowed _none_. Eliot never figured out if it was just nerves- the kid hadn't been around the way the rest of them had, he'd always worked his jobs from a distance- or if it was that other kind of fear that some people got when their friends were in trouble. The kind Eliot used to have, half a lifetime ago.

But yeah. He'd never taken kindly to threats on his crew. He'd blown up their _offices_ when Sterling had gotten too close. Eliot's never asked- he's often wondered, but never asked- what he would've done if someone had actually been caught in the explosion. If someone had died. And he's not in a position, now, where asking will do him any favors.

 _...7972 Center Street, Unit 3. 312-544-2148. 6911 Tempor Road Southeast. 325-576-5365..._

\---

Hardison's long gone by the time Aisha returns. Of course the first thing she notices is Eliot's jaw, her eyes dancing over it with a smirk.

 _Fantastic_.

"So tell me about him," Aisha says.

"Why?"

"Because this hotel room is as stifling as the can I've been living in for the past few weeks. And I remember his face. He's from your days in Boston, no?"

They don't do this. They don't _talk_ , not unless it's half drunken stories about marks- his- or targets- hers- or trading complaints, one-upping each other on the brutality meter. He doesn't know if Aisha Gale is her real name, not even after all these years. If she's even got family or people like he does- _did_ \- there's no way she'll ever tell him. They're friends, he supposes, same as they ever were, but "friends" sometimes mean "people who _don't_ pry." You can't sell out your friends if you don't know who they are.

"Yeah," he's reluctant, but she already has enough pieces put together. He's not giving away anything that he can't afford. "Back in Boston. Used to work together."

"Do you trust him?" She's got reason to ask, even if he wishes she wouldn't. This entire operation hinges on it. And while Hardison might not want to have his back, he knows Hardison will be Hardison.

"Yeah," he eventually admits. "Yeah, I do."

\---

 _Maybe it's his own damned fault. Not that entire scene, shooting up Moreau's crew- that had been unavoidable- but all the shit in his head that comes after. Two weeks between San Lorenzo and the mountain aren't enough time to get it straight in his head and Eliot knows he's not fit company. So he makes himself scarce when he can. Nate's got it figured out, hasn't said anything. Probably won't._

 _Thing is, when he comes back? It's like the circle's getting a little tighter. Nate and Sophie are about the same as they ever were, tiptoeing around and denying that they're into each other. But Hardison and Parker are a thing, now, too. A strange, weird thing, but it's not like they'd be normal._

 _He doesn't figure out why it's been bugging him until they're stuck in a cave on the mountainside, fighting over a dead body. About doing the right thing, even though it's impossible. And he knows it's all wrapped up in her coming face to face with the way she's afraid to die, and it's not like Eliot wants to leave him here either, but it's already well below freezing. They've got to get a move on before it gets dark out._

 _She wants to do right by this dead guy. Wants to do the right thing. And they can't._

 _She's been quiet for a while now, hasn't said a thing since he went to work on the ropes. Just been watching the body with this sad resigned look on her face that he doesn't like seeing there._

 _"Hey," he finally tells her, 'cause maybe he's got something, here. "It's a good thing it was us."_

 _"Because we'd leave him," she finishes. Either she's thought it through herself, or she's just repeating what he's saying before he gets to it. Either way, it hangs there, a bit uglier than she needs._

 _"Because they would've kept trying," he tries to soften the blow, make it sound nicer than it is. But the look in her eyes tells him everything he's been missing. She wants to be like them. She's been trying. "And they would've froze to death right next to him, especially Hardison. So it was a good thing it was us. The two of us, we do things they can't. Won't."_

 _"That make us bad?" The question is shaded, now. She's asking it because she either wants him to absolve her, or agree with her. For a moment, Eliot has no idea how to answer. He's been wondering the same thing for years. But he's got a working theory_

 _"It makes us...us. Now you can take that as a gift, or you can take it as a curse. That's up to you."_

 _It's enough to get her to her feet, enough to get them out of there, and they don't talk on it at all, coming down the mountain or otherwise._

 _Which is why he's not sure of the rest of it. This thing she's got with Hardison. Maybe she gets some peace with him. Maybe she just wants to be able to. But it looks an awful lot like she's trying to change herself to fit him, and that's what's sticking in his craw. Maybe Hardison just happens to be along her route, or maybe he _is_ the route. It's impossible to get a read on someone's motivations when they honestly don't know what they are, but this is as much as Eliot's been able to come up with. _

_On the other hand, he doesn't blame her a bit. Hardison's a guy who likes tinkering with stuff. Messing around and fixing things. And whereas Eliot's the one who can't stop running the cost-benefit analyses, Hardison's usually the first one to argue for a case, for a client, to convince Nate to take a second look, and damn the consequences. He doesn't let them slide, won't let them give up on people. He's not likely to give up on Parker, either. Maybe she needs him as much as he needs to fix her._

 _It's nothing that should be keeping Eliot up at night, though._

 _He's actually dozing off when Parker shows up on his doorstep four nights later, hood up, hands in her pockets and a wary look on her face._

 _"You said Hardison would freeze to death right next to him."_

 _"What?" Eliot blinks, trying to remember as he puts the kettle on. It's far too late for coffee._

 _"On the mountain. You said-"_

 _"Yeah, I know." He sighs. "What about it?"_

 _"Nothing. Just." She frowns. Eliot leaves the kettle on for Parker, but grabs a beer out of the fridge. She's looking flustered, pressing will just make it worse and they'll be here all night. "You think he's a good guy."_

 _He does. It's exactly what's going to get him killed some day, but he's not about to remind Parker of that, not with the mood she's in. "So do you," he points out instead._

 _She frowns, picking through the box of tea he's holding out for her, pulling out some chamomile. "I know. So how do you deal with it? Him knowing that you're not." Catching herself saying the words, for once, she actually winces. "I mean-"_

 _"Look. Whatever you think you've done, I've done worse. No, I don't talk about it. Some of it's classified, some of it might put you in danger. Some of it I just don't want people to know." He sighs, drinks his beer while he buys himself some time._

 _"Because you think everyone will hate you."_

 _Yeah, well, that'll come from killing more people than Parker's probably ever talked to in her entire life. He takes the kettle off, sets the steeping tea in front of her, and she wraps her cold hands around the mug for warmth. She's still waiting._

 _"Parker. Hardison's a good guy. He won't hate you. Not sure he knows how."_

 _She's quiet for a moment, blowing the steam off her tea, but she's starting to smile. Her snort is loud and startling. "Yeah. He's really bad at it."_

 _"True." He laughs. He doesn't think he's ever laughed at anything she's ever said. It's weird. And she knows it too, or maybe she knows something else entirely, maybe he's let something show too much without realizing it, because her next question takes him totally off guard._

 _"Are you in love with him too?"_

 _It's his turn to snort, shake his head. She's insane, she's joking. She's taking forever to finish her tea. It's a long time before Eliot can breathe right._

 _Later, sleep only comes once he's managed to convince himself that it's fine, that she'll forget she asked in a day or two. By that point, the sun's been up for hours._

 _\---_

 _A month goes by and nothing's said, but sometimes he wonders. Like now. The two of them are up to their eyeballs in take-out and motivational speaker brochures and Nate's nagging them to hurry it up._

 _"Well, what do you want me to do, Nate, huh? How's this guy gonna play for a crowd that shows up for-" he squints at the screen to read the title of whatever's popped up last. "You Can't Love Him Until You Love You?"_

 _"You should go to that one, anyway," Parker mumbles around her noodles. Like it's nothing._

 _He glances at the screen and closes it down, fast, moving on. He's got work to do, and motivational speakers are a crock of shit. He'd just. Heard her wrong. Or maybe it's just her sense of humor. She can do snide and sarcastic with the best of them. When she knows the truth of a thing._

 _This doesn't have to be a problem, but it doesn't mean it won't be._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ ](http://s565.photobucket.com/albums/ss94/jendavisjendavis/?action=view&current=IStillRememberFinalDivider2.jpg)

The Dow Chemical Processing and Storage plant is gleaming and pristine from the front, all glass and steel and tastefully tended gardens, but this isn't where Eliot's heading. He drives past the mostly-empty employee parking lots and follows the road around the shining offices to the dully functional industrial buildings on the back of the lot.

There's another route, here, for company trucks to move without marring the scenery at the front of the complex. Service roads feed out almost directly to the highway. It'll be easy to gain distance quickly, if it comes down to it, and he drives it twice to be sure. Three minutes to the highway. Good.

He parks, and the badge gets him through the doors easily enough, where he signs the visitor's log using the name Ferrara'd assigned him. The guard working the desk is Stevenson, pulling the double shift as expected. He's their in, but Eliot doesn't greet him, just slides the envelope across as he passes back the clipboard.

He wanders. There are five other people in the building. Two are on the janitorial and maintenance staff; three others are just working late. As long as they're not too overenthusiastic about their jobs, it's unlikely that any of them will be an issue. The security station for the complex is up in the main offices. As long as Ferrara's truck has the right tags on it, they'll only come out to this building twice, and they'll be well clear of it when he needs them to be.

There aren't any cameras in here that shouldn't be, and since the second half of Stevenson's princely fee isn't going to be delivered until they're leaving the premises, it's unlikely that Eliot's going to have to worry about anything besides the 7:30 and 10:30 sweeps.

"You find anything yet?" Hardison's been in his ear every five minutes since he left the hotel. It's starting to get aggravating.

"No. Same as _last time_ you asked. No security that isn't showing up on the systems. Typical loading dock staging area. Concrete floors, some old tools and tanks along the walls. Need badges to get almost anywhere in here, though. You get the duplicates ready?"

"Yeah, one for each of us. Just dropping them off with Jason now."

"You guys ready for the exchange?"

"More than you'll ever know," Maria mutters. Ravi and Jason are discussing the best way to make the switch, and thankfully, Jason's less stupidly dramatic plan seems to be gaining ground. The Dow truck they're using for transport is already parked outside the warehouse- he and Fletcher had filled the back with enough boxes for cover this afternoon, and Aisha's in position to slip inside at a moment's notice.

There's a good spot up on the rafters in the corner; even if the security patrols look up at him, he's got good enough cover to take it.

Three more hours, now. It's going to be a long wait.

\---

"We made the switch," Maria announces, and Alec allows himself a preemptive sigh of relief. They're not out of the woods, yet- she's still in the truck with 36 women who, before this morning, thought they were going to be handed off to an agent who will coordinate jobs, housing, and in a few cases, according to Aisha, marriages. But this morning's trade had meant tipping their hand to the women. They're going to be in protective custody for another day or so, and anything that comes after that is up to Eliot and Aisha's crew.

"Any problems?"

This time it's Aisha who answers. "Most of them figured out what was really going on with these guys before we were three days out at sea. They're tired, some of them are sick, and most of them are terrified and homesick, just want this to be over with. There are a few I'm keeping my eyes on, a little more resolved than the others, but so far, the others have been keeping them in check."

Alec wants to ask if they've got the means to actually do right by them. He's wary of the answer.

The one advantage of being stuck in the van- and man, it's been a while since he's been this far out of play- is that he doesn't have to request to be patched into B-08, Maria's comm.

"You get everything you need?"

"Yeah." She doesn't sound enthusiastic, but most of Alec's sympathy's already used up, knowing that she went so far off the script.

"Good. You doin' alright in there?"

The smile comes back into her voice. "Tired, bored, but as long as we pull this off, completely unrepentant."

"Good. Hang on to that, only a little while longer, okay?"

"Aye aye."

Switching to the team channel again, he asks "Tara, are you in position?"

"Just pinning on the badge, though I might need it to pin Jason's eyes back in his head if he doesn't stop ogling and get a move on."

"Give me a break, I just _got_ here five minutes ago," he grumbles. "Hate these shoes. You sure you want me this far out of play? If things go south-"

"That's what _I'm_ here for," Eliot grumbles. "Easier if you're not in the way."

"Hey, no offense, but you're the one still walking around with bruises all over your face. From _Hardison_ "

Alec bites his tongue. Now is not the time to chime in, as much as he'd like to. "Jason, just get your ass in the cruiser, ya'll need to be ready to catch some bastards red handed. Ravi?"

"I got it. I get Maria out and to the van when they're loading everyone inside, ditch the bike- which had better still be there when the smoke clears, or I'll make _all_ of your lives a living hell- and pick you up for the sale."

Eliot's the one to bring up the main thing Alec's been worrying about. "This buyer thing. You sure nobody important laid close eyes on you the other night?"

Maria's truck turns onto the road and passes by the van, and Alec tugs at his collar for the third time in as many minutes. "The foreman was the only one who saw me in full light. Everyone else was out in the yard, at a distance, in the dark, or some combination of the three. Does anybody else have any second guessing they'd like to get out of the way? Or can we get to work, here?"

\---

The wire sticking out of the drain at the center of the room is nearly invisible, but the noise Hardison and Ravi had made drilling the path for it from the basement is still ringing in Eliot's ears, and if he doesn't stop staring at it, Ferrara's going to notice. Has to admit, though, it's a good trick, setting up an antenna in the middle of the room. With all the metal in here, he'd been concerned with interference on the comms.

Not that Hardison needs to hear about it. He'd been irritating enough, moving like clockwork with that Ravi kid, like this was something they did all the time.

Of course they have.

Eliot shakes himself. He can think about it later, or, better yet, not at all. Ferrara's car is pulling up outside. Eliot hurries across to meet him, but Ferrara's climbing straight up through the open loading dock, not the door to the parking lot..

"Where the hell you hurrying back from?" Ferrara brushes the dust off of his slacks as he stands, fixing Eliot with an irritated glance.

"Just checking our exits again." It's not a complete lie. "Some of the bolts look old, don't want to get locked in."

"Of course not." Ferrara grimaces. He always think's Kevin Jackson's being paranoid; Eliot's taken pains to ensure it. But there's something else, too, probably having to do with this entire situation getting changed up. Ferrara's good at adapting his game, but he clearly hasn't forgotten last night's close call with the police.

"Are we good?" he asks, watching as the truck's headlights turn towards them. Aisha, Maria, and the rest of the women will be here in less than a minute.

 _No._ Eliot's _Jackson_ , now, and they're dealing with _cargo_ , and he's not supposed to worry about them as anything more than a product. He takes a steadying breath, centers himself. Katsaros and Fletcher are already climbing out of the cab, coming around to open the trailer.

Ferrara's too busy directing traffic to worry about the boxes in the truck, and the cargo comes off the back quietly. Whatever Aisha's told them, though, seems to be doing the trick. After three weeks, It's no secret to anyone that Aisha understands enough English to get help Ferrara's orders across, and the women are gathering in a cluster, straightening their clothes, passing a comb around. Making themselves presentable for the sale. Breath mints are being passed around, and Eliot wishes he didn't know that it's the first thing they've eaten since too early this morning.

Their fear is genuine enough- what little of the score they hadn't already known had been explained to them by Aisha when she and Maria had switched out- but thankfully, none of them are panicking.

Eliot wouldn't blame them if they did. Jackson can't give a fuck.

"Where the hell are they?" Fletcher's still probably fighting that headache he's had since Eliot slapped him awake this morning. His temper is as short as Ferrara's, and neither of them are even trying to hide it.

"Late."

There's no way nobody else isn't hearing this, not with the antenna they've got running, but the line is silent. " _Damn it, Hardison_ ," pressing the button, Eliot buries his growl in the noise of the garage door. As it closes, he can see the movement of cars and trucks, winding slowly closer with their headlights off, and then the road's blocked from view. There's no way to tell who's who yet, no way to tell who'll be first into the room.

If they're going to pull this off Hardison needs to be the first one Ferrara meets. He needs to have a few moments of his full attention if he wants to run the room for the duration, otherwise this won't work.

Now, if _Hardison_ would just confirm that he's got his ass in gear-

The women are shouting.

Eliot spins, bringing his hand down to his sidearm- he'll take Ferrara's crew if he has to- but the women are running towards him in a crowd too thick to see through, shoving past him towards the side door next to the truck bay, but Fletcher's already there, blocking it.

One of them smells sweet, but there's this chemical tang in the air-

 _Shit_.

The light's gone wrong, a little gray, a little hazy and Kevin Jackson's supposed to be helping keep these women in check, anyhow.

Forcing his way through, he tries to find Aisha, but she's been swallowed by the mass, she's a part of it now, and the garage door is opening now. She's probably got her finger on the button. The rest of the room is starting to fill up with smoke, different veins of white going to almost greenish gray.

Fletcher's rushing past, trying to get ahead to chase the women who'd already made it out, but it's too confused in here for him to even register that Eliot's the one who knocks him out. Katsaros, he's got no bead on. Ferrara's in the middle of the room, backing slowly away from the pink liquid seeping up from the drain. There's a crackling noise and a skittering feeling in the air.

The sparks in the middle are coming from Hardison's antenna.

" _Damn_ it!"

The women are already pouring out into the bright parking lot outside. It takes Eliot a moment to see past the headlights to the red and blue flashing of police cars.

Tara and Jason had been in a cruiser, but it wasn't supposed to be coming for another fifteen or twenty minutes; he hadn't heard Hardison giving the signal, and besides. There are at least half a dozen cop cars coming pulling in, with paddy wagons closing up behind.

Fuck. This isn't good.

 _Cool it_.

It could be worse. The women are getting out, Aisha's clear, and as far as he can tell, none of Hardison's crew is in the building.

 _They've probably already been picked up. Something went wrong, Someone got made, it's all going to hell._.

Ferrara's shouting at him, pointing angrily at the mess on the floor, the way it's spread out to block their other exits. Even the stairs moving up to the office are cut off.

Behind him, he hears Katsaros getting arrested. He just needs a second to figure out another-

"Drop the gun, sir," a voice is ordering him, and honestly, Jason doesn't need to look that smug.

Eliot sets the gun down, doesn't resist as the cuffs are put on him. As soon as they're in the cruiser and clear of here, Hardison's never going to hear the end of this. It's a stupid fucking risk he took, here, changing the play without telling him. Running game with the police _right there_ was bad enough; if nobody'd noticed the liquid seeping up before the first charge went though? Could've killed someone.

Jason shoves him off balance as they go down the steps. "Fuck you," Eliot spits, mostly because it's in character, but Jason only grins. And then shoves him towards another officer, waiting by the cars.

This one, Eliot doesn't recognize. As he's searched and mirandized, he comes to the quiet realization that he's just been double crossed. By Alec. Fucking. Hardison.

\---

 _They're finally clear of Latimer. Nate's apartment's been bug-free for weeks, now, and nobody's shady past has come 'round checking up on them in months. On top of that, this last job's gone off without a hitch, plan courtesy of one Alec "Masterplan" Hardison. It's still actually kind of amazing. Alec's still mentally rewinding that part in the van, where Nate grudgingly admitted that yeah, he's got it down now. That he could probably run his own crew, if he wanted to._

 _Not that he does, or anything. Not now, at least. He'd told Nate as much, and for some reason the dude had frowned. Then Parker had come on comms to announce that she was coming out with a suitcase of stolen cash. Enough to set up the three victims for life and then some._

 _Maybe that's what's got Parker in such a good mood, why she'd caught him on the way in and asked if she could come over tonight, once they're done here. Like maybe she's had enough time to think about things. Or maybe she just wants company while she watches cartoons. Either's fine, he reminds himself. Both beat sitting at his apartment wondering if he's making a mistake, pushing her the way he's been doing. Hoping for... something. Whatever it is. It's totally cool. It's good._

 _Besides, Eliot's done up carnitas and rice, and the mole sauce is awesome, and Alec's just kind of riding the high of everything when Sophie drops the bombshell._

 _"I'm pregnant."_

 _Nate comes in with a flanking attack. "We're getting married next month."_

 _Alec's actually not all that surprised, considering, and it's not too hard to work his congratulations in with the others. Parker's bouncing in her chair and staring- hard- at Sophie's still-flat belly, as if she won't believe it until she sees it, and it's clear by her face that she's not sure whether to be happy or horrified. Sophie's too much the center of attention to do anything but laugh along, and Nate's beaming._

 _He's got his fork halfway to his mouth, losing Sophie's trail as she talks excitedly about her first trip to the doctor, when he realizes that, yeah, no kidding, things really are about to change._

 _Eliot's grinning too, but after a few minutes- maybe it's the silence coming from his end of the table, maybe it's nothing at all- Alec turns to notice that he's not actually just staring off into space, he's watching everyone just a little too clearly. Like he's trying to save this in his head, fix it in his memory._

 _And he knows without asking what one of the changes is going to be. Eliot's going to leave, soon._

 _Alec's not hungry any more, but he clears his plate. The food's cold when he's finished. He doesn't know how many dinners they have left together. Spends most of his time trying to keep his mouth shut, not sure what's going to come out if it opens._

 _Afterwards, walking up the stairs to his apartment. Parker tries kissing him. They're both trying really hard to like it. Sometimes it's just one of those things, comes with practice._

 _They sit next to each other on the couch and watch Family Guy and don't look each other in the eye the rest of the night. When she leaves- and she always leaves, and probably always will always move just as quickly when she goes- he doesn't get up. Just stares at his phone on the table, thinking about calling someone. Eliot's the only one he can think of. Just because he's probably still up. But the odds that he's just waiting to hear all Alec's bullshit are admittedly slim._

\---

"He's going to kill you, you know."

"No, he won't." It's a little easier to sound confident of the fact knowing that Eliot's turned his comms off. "He's going to be very surly. And possibly even angry. But this was the best play and he knows it."

"You sure about that? 'Cause right now it looks like you're letting him go down with Ferrara."

"Well yeah. Because that's what it _is_. Besides. I'm sure he would've done this, anyway. If he'd thought about it."

"You ever stop to think there's a reason why maybe he didn't?"

"For the same reasons _none_ of us ever have the idea of getting our asses arrested. So are we ready or not?"

"Yeah," Maria sighs. "Sending it to your phone now."

"Good."

Alec steps out of his car and strides into the precinct offices. The lobby is empty at this time of night, and the night shift officer on the other side of the glass is looking at him warily.

"Hello," Alec nods, sliding his badge underneath the glass, and then a manila folder. The duty officer, Cortes, slides it open, her eyebrows shooting up as she sees what it is.

"Just got word that one of our agents was arrested a few hours ago. I need him sprung, and it needs to happen quietly. Here's the paperwork, it'll spell everything out."

"He's working undercover?"

"Months now, yeah. Been out in the cold too long, we were starting to worry. On the off chance his cover's not blown, yet, we needed to play this out clean. Same reason you managed to fill most of your drunk tank with half a dozen Interpol warrants off of one DUI checkpoint at 9:30 this evening."

Cortes blinks, breaking into a grin of recognition. It never takes long for word to spread between the precincts. "Of course." She scans through the report to find a selection of signatures that should've taken Alec days to collect if they'd been real.

"Is he in holding yet?"

"Yes, sir," Cortes slides his badge back to him and hits the switch that opens the door into the offices. "The probable cause hearing's set for tomorrow afternoon, but our guys have been working him a little, trying to get him to talk. It's been a confusing night. Well. You know."

"I hear you," Alec grins. As a Federal Agent, he's been in this situation hundreds of times. It's all true, except for the fact that it's all false. He steps through the door, follows Cortes down past cubicles towards the back of the bullpen.

"The women?"

"They're at the hospital," Cortes says. "Most of them were suffering from dehydration at least. Buys us at least enough time before the Chief decides how to proceed. They're safe, though. And we've got seventeen people in custody. Half of them are downtown, since we don't have the room to keep them all separated in here."

"Good work," Alec agrees, trying to keep the surprise from his voice. The police _do_ , on occasion, get it right.

Through the cross-hatching reinforcement on the interview room's small window, he sees Eliot glaring back at him over the head of some detective.

The next half hour would go by quickly, were it not for the fact that Eliot's glares, apparently, have the power to stop time indefinitely. Finally, however, papers are signed, scanned, and entered into the system, and Eliot's pacing ahead out of the precinct, hands in his pockets. It's not until they reach Alec's car that Eliot explodes.

" _Seriously?_ "

"What? It's all true, ain't it? You're an operative, working under cover, and your crew-"' He's interrupted by the punch to the jaw.

"Fuck you."

And yeah, he's kind of had that one bought and paid for already- it's why there's an ice pack waiting in the cooler on the back seat already- but this shit is getting _old_.

"You done?"

Eliot bares his teeth. "Not by half."

"You getting into the car, at least?"

Eliot's jaw is set, but he stalks around the front of the car and waits a full five seconds after the door's unlocked to get in. Jaws clenched like that, there's no way in hell he's going to be the one to speak first.

Fine.

"Was I _supposed_ to trust you? I mean, seriously. Was anything you did in the past two days supposed to put me at my ease, here? You needed our help, but weren't exactly easy with the details. That much I can forgive, the entire classified black ops thing. _That_ , I get. But you went behind my back and put one of my crew at risk."

"So you changed the play, had me arrested?"

"I had you arrested to keep your cover in play. If what you're saying is true, then you might need Kevin Jackson again fairly soon, right?"

"How would it have been a problem for me to know the play in advance?" Offended realization dawns over his face. "You needed to see which way I'd jump."

"Well, that, and because I _also_ wanted to capture your prints. I've got them, Eliot. You're in the system, and how this plays out over the next little while is what's going to determine what I do with them."

"Fuck you," Eliot grumbles. A mile goes by before he continues. "So fine, whatever. You and me, _apparently_ we're still not square. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to get on the phone with your people. That backup you've got coming in. And I want them to make sure they know that deporting the women back to the hell they came from isn't their only option."

Eliot's staring at him, heavy. When he speaks, his voice is low, gravelly, but there's a smirk in it, somewhere. "You seriously think we've got an operation this big because we're looking to just toss them back, so they can get caught up in it again?"

"Do you have the means to get papers for all of them?"

Eliot rolls his eyes in disbelief. "Yes, actually. We do."

It's the first surprising truly surprising thing Eliot's said in five years.

\---

 _"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Eliot sips the beer Nate's got waiting for him on the bar, knowing full well that it's a bribe, something to get him to sit still long enough to hear him out._

 _It's not like they've got anything more important to do right now, anyway. There's two days before the wedding, and Sophie and Parker have dragged Hardison out to run errands. Something about a dress fitting that he'd been complaining about, though his complaints had been drowned out by Parker's. At least none of them were having a good time, either._

 _"What happens next," Nate's eyes don't move from the baseball game happening on the TV above the bar. He's not enjoying this either, whatever this is. "Hardison and Parker want to keep the crew going, and you're packing your bags. I was just wondering why."_

 _Eliot's been ready for this for a while now. "Us three doing the work of us five just ain't viable, Nate, and you know it."_

 _"Those two doing the work of five is even less so," Nate points out. "And Sophie and I won't have any trouble consulting, we're just. Out of the field."_

 _"I know." It's weird, hearing him say it. Even with the wedding happening in three days, it still doesn't feel real._

 _"So what's the answer that you didn't have rehearsed?"_

 _Eliot shakes his head. It figures he wouldn't be getting off so easily. No need to drag this out, anyway. Still, he waits for Cora to return to the other end of the bar before speaking. "Belgrade."_

 _Nate barely reacts. There's something flashing in his eyes, then it's gone. He's not surprised by the answer, only that he's getting one._

 _"I'm sorry about that."_

 _"Not saying you need to be. That was a bad scene. You hadn't tipped the cops off, Moreau would've been the least of my problems."_

 _Nate's sitting up straighter on his stool, realization dawning on his face, and his face is shockingly apologetic when he faces Eliot. "I'm sorry. I never. Didn't realize. Liam Kenny. You went solo after that."_

 _"Stop it. You kept me out of it, kept up your end of the deal. If you and I had issues you would've known about 'em a long time ago. And I was never in this for the romance."_

 _His beer's there, to keep himself from saying anything more, but it gives Nate time to think, too._

 _"Eliot, can I ask you something?"_

 _"What?"_

 _"Hardison. His thing with Parker, and ah. You. Are you saying... Is that what this is about?"_

 _"Doesn't matter." There isn't enough beer in his glass- not enough in this entire bar- to save him from this. Nate's still watching him. "Seriously. No. Yeah. I don't know." And that's the bitch of it. Because it's true, he doesn't have a clue, just this great big Maybe that's been floating around his ideas of Hardison for months, now._

 _Hissing, Nate's suddenly swiveling, blinking at the bottles behind the bar in mortified surprise. He's overselling it, and Eliot knows his own laugh is forced, but even if there's this weird tearing in his chest going on, at least it's Nate's turn to be awkward about it._

 _"No kidding," he mutters wryly into his beer, his eyes following Nate's to the mirror behind the top shelf bottles._

 _Hardison's shocked reflection is staring back at him, from only three feet away._

\----

At this point, there's no sense holding out on Hardison. He's going to put the pieces together when the others arrive, anyhow. "Senator Ferrara. He's sponsoring the girls on the down low."

"And I'm only hearing about this now because..?" At least Hardison's done with the shouting for now. Small silver lining.

"If it were made public that he's helping out a small international nonprofit that way, where would the attention land next?" It's been a while, but he remembers. Talk Hardison through it, make him think, he'll never miss a thing.

If Hardison could figure out a way to kick himself without crashing the car, he'd probably be doing it now. "On the operation itself." He's nodding to himself, going over it and fitting the pieces in with whatever it is that he already knows, and he's _finally_ silent, now. Sensing that he's bought himself a few minutes before the next bout, Eliot digs his cell out of his pocket to call Aisha. Turns out, she's already in the loop.

"So," he says, once he's finished filling in the gaps. "We're heading out. You want us to come pick you up at the hospital?"

"No, I'm staying with them until it's over." There's something in her voice that Eliot's not used to hearing. It's concern. Then again, three weeks locked in cages will breed a certain camaraderie. Hell, that's how he'd _met_ Aisha, the first time. "The hospital's short on translators at this time of night. You know how it is."

Eliot doesn't have a clue. "They're all okay? No burns or anything?" He catches Hardison's quick sidelong glance, but can't read it with nothing more than the dashboard lights to go by.

"Not even smoke inhalation. Dehydration, a little malnutrition and a few mild issues, but on the whole, they're coming out all right. Nervous, still, but they're not going to stop worrying about being deported until they actually get those papers in their hands. You talk to Sheridan about that yet?"

"I'll call the boss man in a bit," Eliot says. "So, Nurse Grace, You want us to bring y'all anything?" Hardison, for some reason, is swiveling his head and staring at him, and it's distracting until he realizes why. But it's not important.

"I've got it for now," Aisha's saying. "But hit me up in the morning. I'm going to need cash for a hotel where I can shower properly and sleep for days."

"Sure thing."

They sign off, and Hardison gives it a mile before raising his eyebrows at him. "You want to head back to the hotel?"

"Sure."

It's nearly three, but he's not ready to sleep, and honestly, a beer in the hotel bar is in order. And he and Hardison probably aren't done hashing this shit out yet; he doesn't even know if he's supposed to consider him a friend, now, to be honest. But maybe they're over the worst of it. Maybe Hardison will say yes.

He debates for the twenty minutes it takes for the hotel to come into sight. He's doesn't even know if he's going to go through with it until Hardison's slowing the car down.

"Bar time here's still four, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then park this thing." It's easiest to steal something if you already believe it's yours. "We're not done arguing, and you owe me a beer."

"What? I _did_ just spring you from the pokey. Beer ought to be flowin' the other way, man."

"Yeah, well. You're the one who had me arrested in the _first_ place."

Hardison keeps it deadpan for a moment before grinning so widely at him that Eliot's sure he doesn't deserve it. "Fair enough."

Rolling his eyes, Eliot gets out of the car. "Seriously? The _pokey_?"

\---

Between the late hour, the second round of beers, and the fact that they'd just busted a trafficking ring, the argument's lost most of the sharp edges. It doesn't mean they're quite done, though.

And Alec's working out how to stretch it until last call before he realizes that he's doing it. "Hey," he shrugs. "You know as well as I did that it was going to be harder keeping everyone safe when the buyers arrived. It was easier just to stick with your original plan. It was _solid_ man."

Eliot's scowl is sarcastic, nothing special there, nothing new, but the laughter's reaching his eyes and he'd _missed_ that. "You're what, Mr. Safety now? _My_ plan didn't involve electrocuting people with _Kool-Aid_."

"Details, man. _Style_." Alec doesn't point out that the voltage was so low the worst jolt anyone would've gotten was less than a static shock from a carpeted floor. It's too much fun watching Eliot freak out.

\---

This lull they're in isn't getting any shorter, but Eliot's gone ahead and ordered another round for the both of them. Seems as safe a time to ask as any.

"So. What've you been up to for the past five years?"

Eliot snorts into his glass. "Exactly what you're thinking I've been doing. Few government jobs, a few private ones. You remember Flores in San Lorenzo?" Hardison nods "Some of his contacts over at the UN needed some off the books work done, I took the gig. I was finishing up a job in Beirut when the deal with the Senator happened. That was about two years ago, now. Had a few months to set up, and been living as Jackson for the past year and a half."

"Right on." Alec grins, relaxes just a bit more. Maybe the beer's finally helping. "When did Nurse Gale come on board?"

"Hell, she was working for them back before that day at McRory's." Eliot twists the neck of his half-full bottle between his fingers. "What about you, what've you been doin'?"

"Exactly what you're thinking I've been doing," he smirks. "Started pulling the team together pretty quick. Maria came on first, then Parker tipped us off to Ravi. Been through a few hitters. One just got tired of the game and quit, but most've 'em just sucked. Jason's workin' out real well, though."

"He's got some moves," Eliot eventually allows, in a terse sort of way that's probably hitter for _don't tell him I said that_. "When did Tara come on board?"

"She... She's not a regular, or nothing. She just sometimes helps out while she's in the area, in between marks. Flew her in once or twice when we really needed a cute blonde to play roper. This time 'round, though, she was in the area. Transporting some stuff for Parker, actually."

Maybe it's a misstep, if Eliot's thought processes are anything like Alec's. Because if it's _Parker_ , then it's _Alec and Parker_ , and it's _Eliot leaving_ because of- _whatever_. Alec's had five years to get over this. Or at least get better _at_ it, but it's not like he can just come out and say, _Hey, Eliot. You remember that time I heard you say, "No. Yeah. I don't know?" And I stared at you like an idiot and we avoided each other and you left? Yeah, about that..._

But once again, Eliot's thought processes are his own. "Is Parker the one who's been going after all the looted pieces from the Iraqi museums?"

It's an informational question, not dangerously edging on personal. This, he can deal with, even with as far from left field as it's coming. "Yeah."

"Good." Something in Eliot relaxes, or maybe Alec's just imagining it. "Was _really_ hoping so."

"Why?"

Eliot frowns, thinking, then he's apparently remembered. "Was at this party, building up my profile, working towards Ferrara, who was there that night. It was at this, ah... _politico's_ place. In Portugal. I'd wandered out onto an empty balcony to get some air, heard something that sounded like her rappelling anchor running up on the roof overhead. Very distinctive sound." He smirks. "Anyway, by the time I looked, I only saw, like, feet, swinging over onto the roof and then nothing. The guards came by looking ten seconds later."

Alec frowns, ready to attack if need be. "And you were _hoping_ it was her?"

"Yeah. Anyone else would've gotten caught. And what they would've had waiting for them? Not cool."

"So what happened?"

"They searched all the guests, few people got roughed up, but they didn't find anything." Eliot sips his beer, the topic, as far as he's concerned, is evidently closed. "Where is she, anyhow?" His eyes dart away, searching the bar like he's expecting her to pop up at his elbow, and the bullet Alec's been thinking he's dodged through this entire conversation ricochets right back at him. "You two still...?"

"Me an' her only lasted a few weeks after you left."

He wishes he'd rephrased it the moment it's said. He's not trying to pin it on Eliot, especially not when he's sitting across the table, half-grinning in something like sympathy. "It was for the best. We're cool. Grab dinner when she's in town, and we all get together at Sophie and Nate's for Christmas when we can. She's got something going on with Apollo, past few years, brings him around sometimes."

"Seriously?" Eliot's eyes widen in mild surprise before narrowing again. "Actually, I can see it."

Alec really wants to turn the question around, but he's a little too invested in the answer to actually want to hear the answer. "Both of them came out last winter. He got all dressed up as Santa for Mona and Frankie. Parker did the elf thing."

"Mona and Frankie," Eliot repeats thoughtfully before shaking his head. "What about you? Sophie make you dress up like a reindeer or something?"

"Nah. I was manning the cameras. Took copious amounts of embarrassing video."

"Who was embarrassed?"

"Everyone, probably. I can show you sometime, if you want."

"Sure."

Alec blinks. "For real?"

"Didn't even know there was a second kid, and I ain't ever seen the first one. Kinda curious," Eliot's eyes slide away, and Alec wonders exactly what his life's been looking like, wants to know all the things he's not telling him. Conversation halts again as the waitress comes by for last call, and Alec orders another set before Eliot can stop him. Just in case he's planning on trying.

\---

 _...2725 Mauris Avenue, Number 43. 961-219-4532. 483 Lorem Road, East Lothian. 0131-665-8299..._

The waitress comes back, tells them that they're closing up shop, but Eliot's escape won't be immediate. He and Hardison are loitering in the lobby, with the bland couches and fake plants and desk clerk who's pretending not to watch them over the counter.

"So," Hardison says, turning their handshake into a quick hug that's too quick and too distant to mean anything at all. "You'll keep in touch this time around, yeah?"

"Yeah," Eliot repeats, scanning him for signs of inebriation. "You're okay to drive?"

"Only had three beers," Hardison says, sounding so much like Nate- so practiced and detached about the matter- that it's a little unnerving. But there's more, too. A flash of nerves, too slowly hidden. "I'm good."

If he pushes it, Hardison's definitely going to think he's hitting on him.

"All right," Eliot hears himself saying. "Cool. Well. Good night, man. Good luck."

"Thanks. You too." Already stepping back and away, he nods enthusiastically, speaks too loudly. The girl at the counter doesn't have to strain herself to listen. "I'll see you around, right?"

"Yeah. See ya."

\---

It's been a long day.

Exhausting.

And even with the three beers, Eliot can't stop staring at the ceiling, trying to identify what the fuck it is that he's feeling.

\---

Three blocks from the hotel, Alec has to pull over, freak out for a minute, before very calmly signaling and pulling back into traffic.

He's being ridiculous. That, back there, wasn't anything. It wasn't worth panicking about. It's not.

\---

Maria, who'd come in expecting to spend this gorgeous afternoon falsifying immigration documents, is especially thrilled to be cut loose so soon, and Alec's pretending not to notice Ravi hurrying to catch up to her before she's gone, or the sudden drop in volume of their conversation. Jason's not blind either, he hangs back a minute at the table, watching out of the corner of his eye. Once the door's shut, he stands, grabbing his coat.

"You see that Eliot dude again, tell him I'm down for a rematch." Grabbing his coat, he winks at Tara, flashes them both the peace sign, and heads for the stairs.

Tara's still sipping at her coffee, and this must be what Nate felt like, all the time, waiting for everyone to clear out so he could think in silence. She's got her purse on the table and her keys out, though. Five more minutes, and he'll have the office to himself.

"So. You doing all right?"

Or maybe not. This is starting to look like a dark cloud on an otherwise sunny day.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why you askin'?"

"Because you just spent the past two days in an amazing display of head game brinkmanship with Eliot Spencer?"

"Whatever," Alec starts, but he's cut off by the ringing of the phone. Smirking, he holds the phone up so she can read the name on the caller ID.

She's standing in an instant, purse and keys in hand, and presses a quick kiss to his forehead before pinching his cheek like he's one of Sophie's kids. "Send him my love, and if you don't call me soon with gossip, you'd better call me soon with a job."

He tries not to grin as he turns to answer the phone.

"Hey, man, what's up?"

Behind him, the door's closing. It's just him and Eliot now, and it's suddenly _awkward_.

"Ah. I'm leaving town. Just wanted you to know, everything's getting handled. Aisha's saying that the foundation taking care of getting them set up with housing and resources and stuff already has their paperwork, if you're wanting to check up on them or anything."

"What's the foundation called?"

"What, you're telling me you can't hack it?" He doesn't know if the chiding's supposed to make him so pathetically grateful, but it's happening.

"You fall on your head or something? _Course_ I can."

"Didn't think so." There's something vaguely resembling a gibberish human voice in the background. Eliot's at the airport already, and it's not the sort of thing that's supposed to send Alec's stomach to plummeting. "Anyhow. Look. About the past few days. Know we had punches and beers and all, but I wanted to make sure we're cool before I head out."

 _This time_. Neither of them say the words, but Alec's probably not the only one hearing them. "Nah, man, we're good. Long as you don't wait five years to say hi again."

"You've got my number."

"That I do. Everything work out okay on your end?"

"Yeah. Have to do a little finessing things, here. Fletcher's singing like a canary, angling for a better deal, so we've got a shot at taking down the last parts of the extended network if we move fast. Nobody's getting out any time soon, but word spreads, you know? If I'm fast, though, Kevin Jackson's got enough left in him to get back into play."

"Glad to hear it." That awkwardness is ballooning again, and again, it's his own damned fault. "And hey, listen. I know this didn't work out smooth, but if you need anything, hit me up, I got your back, no questions asked."

"Will do," Eliot's voice goes quiet. "Thanks." There's this pause where one of them is probably supposed to be saying something, but Alec only hears the public address system bleeding through. "They're calling my flight. Gotta go."

"Right on. Good luck, man."

"Thanks. You too."

Alec hesitates, but he's still not certain he's the last one to hang up.

\---

 _Eliot's standing next to him, at Nate's right during the ceremony, but he might as well be a million miles away already. Two days, and they've said nothing to each other. At all._

 _Eliot might as well be gone already._

 _Beyond Sophie's amazingly complicated dress, Alec can just make out Parker, struggling not to fidget with her flowers, anxious and bored. Tara's eyes never move from the ceremony, but her attention's on Parker as well._

 _It's amazing, the number of people who've come. Cora's family and Nate's ex-wife. Lieutenant Bonnano and a smattering of Nate's (mostly legitimate) and Sophie's (mostly criminal) friends. Hell, even Sterling's sent a card._

 _Only another thousand hours of this, and they'll be on their way to McRory's for the reception. Soon as they send the newlyweds-and isn't that strange- on their way to their honeymoon, well. It'll all be over.  
Because it's not like Eliot's going to be sticking around, afterwards. One show only. No encores. And his bags are already packed, in the back of his truck. _

_Alec hasn't even been able to get him alone long enough to ask if he wants him to keep an eye on the house when he leaves. Probably because that's not the only question Alec's got in mind; it's just the opener. After that? It gets weird._

 _Parker's in on the con, though she doesn't know why. It probably do much good, since Eliot's expecting it, but it might be enough to catch him for five minutes. That's all he needs. Just five. But there's hours and hours to get through between here and there. Before he can talk to the guy standing a foot and a half to his left, ramrod straight, eyes boring into the stained glass behind the altar._

 _Pictures are taken- smile for the camera, pretend like this isn't the last time they're going to be in the same city- and he's sorting out rides and directions and making small talk with near strangers, and finally, everyone's in place when Mr. and Mrs. Ford- that'll never sound right- are walking in the front door of McRory's to thundering applause._

 _Eliot pulls off his speech amazingly well. It's the most words he's said in days. Tara's is better, though. She doesn't have to keep looking at her cards. And then, finally, Alec can lose the tie because the reception's in full swing._

 _There are too many nooks and crannies in this place to keep an eye on Eliot, make sure he's not gone, but Alec's got allies. Nate and Sophie do what they can to orchestrate a conversation, Tara's a little more tricky and Parker, as it turns out, is a whole lot less subtle._

 _"Figure this out," she glares at both of them, brandishing Eliot's stolen keys and shoving them into a booth. "Both of you."_

 _And it's stupid and pointless and he can't think of what he wanted to say in the first place. Eliot's not looking like he wants much to talk, either. He's actually looking everywhere but Alec, but eventually his annoyance wins out._

 _"What do you want?"_

 _"Me? Ain't it obvious? Figured you and me need to talk, unless you wanted to ride out of town feeling like a jackass."_

 _"So talk."_

 _At least Parker hadn't taken their beers away. They're useful props, and Eliot's irritation is barely covering his nervousness. He actually looks like he could use a drink. And that's when it hits him. What he'd been about to do. Because Eliot's into dudes. That's one thing. But Eliot's possibly into him, and that's... it doesn't have to be a whole other cluster-fuck, but getting loud about it in the middle of a wedding reception isn't the way to handle it._

 _"Five minutes, okay? That's all I'm asking."_

 _"Fine."_

 _"You don't have to go."_

 _Eliot smirks. "Is that it?"_

 _"In a nutshell."_

 _"I'm going." He sips at his beer- it looks like the same one he's been nursing all night, but Alec's not sure- then looks at him for the first time. "Nothing personal, okay? You and me, we're cool. And I'll write, visit, whatever, but I'm leaving tonight."_

 _"Anything I can say to change your mind?"_

 _Apparently it doesn't warrant anything more than a shake of the head. He's tempted again to bring up the Carters, and their sick kid. It looks like an easy job, and he and Parker are heading down to Tempe next week to handle it, but it seems low. Pathetic, and more importantly, ineffective._

 _He doesn't know how not to feel guilty about this. There's a part of him that's considering breaking it off with Parker entirely just to make him stay. As if that isn't the stupidly cruelest thing he's ever contemplated._

 _It does feel like he's giving up without a fight, though. But he'd already expected as much. The papers in his pocket only prove it._

 _"Okay. Here it is, then. One. You always got a place with us, whenever you want, no questions asked." He slips the paper out of his pocket and slides it across the table. "You already know my email address. Here's every way you don't already know for how to get a hold of me. You call any of these numbers, I'll answer. And that place I picked up in Manhattan last spring's there on the end. You run into any trouble at all, you let me know."_

 _Eliot frowns. He'd probably much rather have the fight, not this capitulation, but Alec can't give him what he wants. Doesn't even know if either of them honestly want him to, and this is all he can come up with. After a few moments, Eliot takes the paper, slips it into his jacket without looking at it. Long as he doesn't look, it's not real. Neither of them have to deal with it._

 _"Thanks." Apologetically, he adds, "I don't know where I'm going to be, here, so I can't-" his fingers twitch towards the pocket Alec's ignoring. "You know. But thanks. For this. And everything."_

 _Nate and Sophie look like they're beat, Parker's rushing over to open the doors, warn the driver. Eliot's been neglecting his duties._

 _Alec's out of the booth first, though. He's there when Eliot stands._

 _"So this is it, I guess."_

 _"Yeah."_

 _Alec grabs him, pulls him into a tight hug. "It's been real, man. You even try being a stranger and I'm gonna come after your ass, you got that?"_

 _"Yeah. Take care of yourself."_

 _"You too."_

 _And Eliot's sharing a glance with Nate, clapping his hands loudly and getting everyone's attention. It's time to send them off. Eliot's the first one to hug them both._

 _Alec claps loud, hard enough that his palms sting. And watches with everyone as Nate and Sophie make their exit, out to the limo that's waiting out front. Sophie still doesn't even know where they're going, Alec's made sure of that much. But she's going to absolutely love it._

 _By the time they've cleared the door, he's turning. The door into the back room is swinging shut over a flash of tan satin. Parker's bridesmaid's dress, moving quickly. By the time he makes it back, cracks it open, all he sees is Eliot and her breaking leaning in towards each other, talking quietly._

 _It's Eliot's last goodbye, and whatever's said isn't any of Alec's business. He hugs her, she shoves his keys at him, and then he's gone._

 _She's crying when she turns around. Crashes into Alec's arms easily enough. He doesn't know it yet, but it doesn't fix a thing._

 _For a while, they hold it together. The Carters get their money back from the insurance company, their kid's getting his treatment. Parker and him, they can barely look at each other._

 _Three weeks after the wedding, it's their last goodbye too._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ ](http://s565.photobucket.com/albums/ss94/jendavisjendavis/?action=view&current=IStillRememberFinalDivider2.jpg)

Alec puts the crew on a two-week stand down, spends an afternoon running errands, and is back in front of his computer by five that night. Reports on the arrest have been filed, statements and charges made. Eliot's name is nowhere to be seen.

 _And more importantly_ , he tries convincing himself, there's no mention of his crew. Setting his alerts to inform him if there's any pertinent updates, he gets up after only a few minutes, all loose energy and tension.

By eight, his apartment hasn't been so clean in months. He's worked his way up through the living room, dusting the pictures down when he stops to look at what he's holding. It's the framed postcard Eliot sent way back when, still the same shitty picture of the Toronto skyline.

It's no longer the closest Eliot's been in five years, but it doesn't occur to him to throw it away. Instead, he digs out his phone. Brings up the edited Christmas footage he'd saved to his phone and sends it to Eliot.

Ten minutes later, it starts vibrating. He's got a message.

 _Video Message Delivery Failed._

He tries twice more, but he refuses to be convinced until he's in the phone company's records. Service to Eliot's number was cut off three hours ago. There's no record of a new account being opened.

On the off chance, feeling spiteful, he grabs Eliot's call history and backs out of the system. It's midnight before he knows that every number that's not his, or belonging to someone on his crew, has been terminated as well.

Eliot's doing it again. Disappearing.

For the first time in four years, Alec drinks until he passes out.

\---

It's a month before they're forced to admit that Aisha's intel from Katsaros has dead-ended, and another three weeks after that before they're finished debriefing. Afterwards, it's three endless days of closeout security protocols, non-disclosure agreements, and one conversation too many that starts with the words, _"If you ever want to get back in the game..._ "

It hits him suddenly, having a last beer with Aisha before she catches her flight to wherever she calls home. He's not Kevin Jackson any more, for the first time in years. He's religiously followed baseball, developed a taste for gin. Hell, he'd even invented a brother at the Supermax in Colorado and the paperwork to prove he was real, and none of it matters anymore.

He has no idea what to do with himself, now. He just can't remember. Drives around California for a few days like he'll find the answer lying in the middle of the road somewhere. He'll check out Death Valley, maybe, on the way to Las Vegas. It's the sort of thing Eliot would do. He's almost sure of it.

He switches cars in Barstow out of habit. Can't remember which identification to use, winds up going with Greg Markham, who he hasn't been in three years, and even then, only for a week or two. While the guy behind the counter is putting together the paperwork for the truck, he peruses the wall of tourist brochures next to the door.

The Deep Space Communications Center is only half an hour away. There's really not much else, heading into the Mojave. But it'll have air conditioning.

The tour really isn't his sort of thing, and inside, it's all computers and screens and geeks. Hardison would be into this. Nate too, probably. It's not the sort of thing Eliot would go in for, _definitely_ not the kind of thing Kevin Jackson would like, but Greg Markham, he'd never really fleshed out. He'd just kept him in his pocket for a rainy day.

Maybe Markham's the type to stop in at a gift shop, pick up a postcard. Sit in a rental truck and just stare at it for hours, trying to figure out what to say. Where to even send it.

 _3332 North Sodales Road. 648-313-1964. 18 South Riverview. 617-254-6684..._

\---

Truehart International's CFO finally goes down after a month and a half, and honestly, if Alec wasn't as desperate to get home as the others clearly are, he would've booked himself a different flight. Ravi and Maria are having too much fun arguing over crap in the SkyMall catalog to even contemplate stopping, and now that Jason's painkillers are wearing off, he's growing more impatient by the mile.

At least they've finally stopped looking at him with so much concern in their eyes, like he's one of their _clients_. As if he's given them _reason_ to.

In the taxi on the way home, he reads the latest email from Sophie and doesn't bother answering it. She's asking for details again, now that Tara's gone and told her about Eliot being back in town, and that's only to be expected.

By the time Alec gets in, he's too exhausted to do anything more than flip through the mail. Bills in plastic-windowed envelopes, shiny card stock ads from internet service providers and cell phone companies.

If he hadn't been glancing down when he'd been throwing out the junk mail, he would've missed the handwriting.

 _Hey. Think you'd like this place more than I did. Got a new number, the old one doesn't work. 702-898-4822._

He has no idea how to process this, flips the postcard over to snort at the other side. The huge satellite dish array is surprisingly familiar. Deep Space Communications out in California. He'd hacked them back in 2002, just for kicks.

It's easier to think about that than what's written on the other side. It's not until he's got a beer in his hand that he even flips it over again. 702 area code, that's Las Vegas. He has a location. And hell, with this, he can track Eliot easy as pie, get into the cell phone company's records, get a credit card, maybe an address that's not just another dead end.

It doesn't occur to him to actually try _dialing the number_ until he's gotten up for another beer.

It's barely eight, here. Five in Las Vegas. If he starts making promises to himself like _I'll call before this bottle's empty_ , he's just going to keep putting it off. Feel even more pathetic.

\---

Eliot's startled by the annoying techno noise coming from his pocket, and realizes that he's never heard his phone ring before. He hasn't talked to anyone all week. But there's only one person on Earth that has this number.

Steeling himself, he answers.

"Hey, I was just about to call you." _Opening up with what's probably a baldfaced lie. Nice._

"Uh huh. Wait. Really?" It's easy to picture Hardison standing around, trying to figure out what to say next, and even if it _wasn't_ , it's easy enough to look in the mirror for reference. "Didn't think you had my number, seein' as how you _ditched_ your _phone_."

It's not worth pointing out that he'd memorized every phone number and address on the list Hardison had given him, long before stashing it in that safe deposit box in Omaha. No need at all to mention the hours he's spent over the years, running down the list in his head, just to keep himself sane. "Ah, shit man, yeah." It's easier to treat this like a deposition. Chickenshit, but easier. "Wasn't really up to me, I was under orders, so..."

"That's cool, I get it. So. How's Las Vegas?"

And just like that, this entire thing? It's a stupid idea.

"Hot and dry, I'd expect. Same as ever. I'm actually in town." _And was going to call you the moment I was done with this cup of coffee._

 _Just like I was going to call you halfway through the last one._

"Seriously?'

"Yeah. Had some business to finish up here, so... Anyway. I'm in the neighborhood. You doin' anything right now?" It should be more of a relief, spitting it out, but it turns out he's more anxious about Hardison's answer than he'd thought. He stares at the coffee rings on the table and remembers promising himself that he wouldn't get so hung up on this.

"Uh. No. I literally walked through the door just now. Comin' back from a job, you know?"

 _Not getting hung up on this._ He can't help being disappointed, but at least he can cover for it easily enough. "Ah. Right on, well. If you're tired, that's cool. I'll be around for a few-"

"Never said I was _tired_ ," Hardison's voice changes suddenly, either he's caught a second wind or he's really trying to. "Just. Kinda need a shower. Um. You want to meet me up at my place? I'll be ready in like half an hour."

"Sure," Eliot replies calmly. They used to do this, sometimes. Grab a beer. Hang out. It's nothing to get worked up over.

 _... 1073 Lexington Avenue. 785-776-8723._

\---

Alec's just getting the last of the clutter shoved aside when the intercom buzzes, and his last rational thought for the next several seconds is _I should probably answer that_. Then the vertigo sets in. Somehow he makes it to the doorway to stare towards the stairs.

Nerves pile upon nerves, he wonders how to play this as he listens to the footsteps climbing up towards him.

Eliot stops short, five feet away, out of reach and staring back at him like he doesn't really have a plan, either. He looks like he's been up for three days straight.

"Good to see you, man," Alec begins, and good. That's good. He should quit while he's ahead. Or he could blow it entirely. "Where you been _this_ time?"

\---

 _Okay,_ Eliot concedes. _I probably deserved that._ But Hardison's grimacing at the sound of his own voice, like maybe he didn't mean to come off like that, and he's opening the door, waving him inside.

His smirk is probably enough to cover for both of them. "Does it matter?"

"Not at all." He has half a second to glance into the apartment- it's nice- before Hardison's grabbing him by the shoulders, and he's too startled to hang on as tight as he wants to; the angle's all wrong. But Hardison doesn't let go, so Eliot doesn't have to, yet. "All bullshit aside, I missed you, man. You don't even _know_."

 _I might_.

He rolls his shoulder a bit, gets a better grip on Hardison's side real quick before pulling back. _You too, man_ , he's about to say, play it off like his pulse isn't skyrocketing like he'd been dreading, but Hardison, he's not playing this right, not backing off fast enough, not doing anything at all.

Eliot freezes under his regard and studies him right back. The door into the hallway isn't even closed yet, but if he shifts his eyes to notice, that's it, this'll be gone.

And hell, he's only just _gotten_ here.

One last chance to back out, but Hardison's not taking it, he's feinting forward, too, and suddenly it's _real_ and _irrelevant_.

\---

Eliot's lips are dry, almost as chapped as Alec's own and his mouth tastes like coffee when they part. All he needs to do to get Eliot's hands back where they should be is lean into it a bit, not even half a step. For his part, now that they're past the point where either of them can pretend to mistake this for anything but what it is, he doesn't know where his arms are supposed to go. They land on Eliot's shoulders, dragging him in deeper.

It's not peaceful, kissing Eliot. He hadn't thought it would be, but it's fast and rough and just clumsy enough to be honest and his lip gets crushed painfully against Eliot's mouth, but that's no need to stop. Okay, well, that wince has Eliot pulling back anyway, but he's grinning, smirking as he stares, looking for blood.

"You're fine," Eliot decides, laughing before kissing him again, deliberate and careful and quick.

The moment hasn't past, it's just shifted. The urgency hasn't gone, it's just banking, now. It's been months, years really, and there's probably some stuff they should talk about first. And at some point, he should probably at least offer the man a beer.

But the kitchen table's no good, not for this. He's had enough of distance. Maybe they both have.

\---

"Yeah," Eliot admits, easing back into the couch again when Alec finally gets the nerve to bring up the five year old elephant in the room. "That's on me. Went looking for a clean break, and... things got messy. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry I didn't stay in touch."

 _Yeah,_ Alec kisses him, the bravado coming easily now, _and here's what you were missing_.

\---

"Was just starting to figure it out before you left, but it was months before I even admitted it to myself." Alec's thought about saying this for years, but actually _doing_ so is giving him vertigo. "Parker's the first one I told."

"How'd she take it?"

"Relieved, mostly. Was weird for a while, but at least she had an excuse not to go on forcing herself into something she wasn't all that into in the first place." He doesn't actually mean to make it sound so pitiful, but Eliot, it turns out, has got a protective streak that extends to kissing things better. It's totally worth it.

\---

Honestly, Alec's going to need Eliot to repeat some of the finer points later, but he's got the gist. He's also got Eliot's right next to him, shoulder pressing into his arm, and it's starting to feel like he might stay that way.

"...so yeah, gotta run up to Boston one of these days, get some things out of storage, but I was thinking maybe I'd grab something in the neighborhood."

"Well in the meantime," Alec could reach for his beer, but this'll work best if he doesn't shift away. He doesn't know why he's holding his breath. "You're welcome to stay here. Including tonight. Just so we're clear."

It turns out they're actually not so bad at talking, long as it's foreplay.

\---

 _I thought about you_ , Eliot nearly says, but what he thinks he actually means by it, he doesn't get out either. _You. It's been you for years_.

It's starting to feel like he should say something, though, 'cause time's slowing down with Hardison's hands on his skin. He's just looking at him. Staring, touching, examining, whatever he's doing, Eliot's not sure, but this regard feels surprisingly weighty. His thumbs are pressed up against Eliot's ribs, hard points of contact ghosting out across the spread of his fingers. It's making him itch.

 _Do we really have to talk about this any more?_

Hardison, suddenly, seems to be on the same page, and their hands keep getting in the way as they strip each other down piece by piece, until all that's left, finally, are Hardison's briefs. They're bright green, and he looks _good_ in them, all long legs and smooth skin, and it's Eliot's turn to look. There's this gap in the leg opening, this fabric cave that he slips his fingers into, tracing back towards Hardison's hip, slow and light and teasing. Hardison's bucking closer, letting him get away with it for now, but that could all change. Another minute, and it does.

Hardison's groaning in irritation, hands twitching as they flail clumsily for whatever skin he can reach, settling on Eliot's side, first, enough to drag him down on top of him fully. He shoves a hand down, grazing along the inside of Eliot's leg before coming up again, stroking at him unsteadily, insistently.

His mouth is close enough to breathe into, close enough to kiss, but Eliot's aim's thrown off when Hardison shifts their hips together, thrusts up against him. Bracing himself against Hardison's chest, he rocks back into him, eyes falling closed as the spikes shoot through him, but he wants to see this, needs to see it hitting on Hardison's face.

There's a rhythm, here, but it's changing already by the time they find it. He's got his thigh jammed tight between Hardison's, Hardison's hands pulling his hair- _tight_ out of the way, warm huff of breath against his collarbone and a barely muttered _fuck_ filling the space between them.

The crash creeps closer, banking in his spine when he manages to get his hand wrapped around both of them in a clumsy grasp, all sweat and soft skin that somehow doesn't give way. His hand's not enough to steady them, but Hardison's shoulder's rolling against his chest as he shifts, he's reaching down, threading his own long fingers between and around, closing the gap and dragging. It's not enough.

Hardison's mouth is loose against his own, breathing harsh as much as kissing back; it's the only part of him not wound tight, too many muscles spent keeping them from collapsing into frustration, and this can't last for long, they're racing towards the end now. Rougher, faster, all Eliot knows is that they're shifting deeper into the couch with every move, and Hardison's clutching back tight, crushing his head against his shoulder, twisting his wrists when he pulls, too close now, eyes burning, and _this_ \- wild, mad, beautiful- is what he looks like just inches from coming.

When Hardison's hands go clumsy and he starts to thrash against him, Eliot shoves him back down against the couch, thrusts more quickly over them both. _Everything_ is tight about Hardison now, his abs are twitching with the effort of holding back, his breath's coming jagged and hot. With a gasp, he goes suddenly rigid, his fingers digging tight into the skin on the inside of Eliot's thigh; Eliot's eyes slam shut as he's shocked into breaking. He's falling apart over him, _with_ him, and finally, _finally_ , crashing into him just to breathe.

\---

One of the bottles on the table's been knocked over, its contents already pooling on the floor, but Eliot's steady breath is warm against his neck, and Alec _could_ stop stroking his back, if he wanted to.

The bottle will still be there in the morning.

\---

In the morning, Eliot is, too.

\---

A week later, he comes to stay.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ ](http://s565.photobucket.com/albums/ss94/jendavisjendavis/?action=view&current=IStillRememberFinalDivider2.jpg)

Eliot stares out the window, trying to find the ground below, some sort of landmark, but they're going through a cloud bank, now; there's nothing to see. It doesn't stop him staring.

Another forty minutes and they'll be touching down. Another ten after that, and they'll be heading for the baggage claim, and he'll be seeing Nate and Sophie for the first time in five years. Meeting Mona and Frankie for the first time in his life.

It's sending another spike of nerves through him, jolting enough that he thinks for a moment that Alec might wake, but he remains plastered against Eliot's arm, pinning him against the window. Alec's headphones are still, somehow, blocking out the crying baby back in coach. He's not waking for anything. Eliot couldn't move if he wanted to.

Besides. They've gone through too many apologies and recriminations and explanations for him to back out now, and if Alec still wants to hold him here, he's done arguing about it.

Five years, he could've had this. At some point, maybe, he'll stop reminding himself of the fact.

"Hey. Alec," he tries, when the announcement comes that they're preparing to land, but a rough " _Damn it, Hardison_ " will probably always be more effective. Alec's not opening his eyes, yet, but he's awake, burying his face against Eliot's shoulders as he drags his earbuds out by the cord.

"We there yet?" Reluctantly forcing himself to sit up, he attempts a sidelong glance at Eliot and winces at the light streaming through the window.

"Just about."

"Don't know what _you're_ smiling about," Alec grumbles. But the back of his hand is resting against Eliot's leg, pressing in just a bit, and he's starting to grin, like maybe he actually does.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I Still Remember (Leverage) - Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/262119) by [cybel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybel/pseuds/cybel)




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